Across the Pond
by kbrand5333
Summary: Sisters Abbie and Guinevere Mills decide to study abroad at Oxford, where they meet Arthur Pendragon and his friend, Ichabod Crane. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

_I've never seen her before,_ Arthur Pendragon thinks, sipping his tea in a café near Oxford University. _Of course,_ _it is a new term, so there likely will be_ _new people,_ he reasons, reaching for his scone and turning his attention back to the belated birthday gift from his friend Crane: a new volume all about medieval knights and the code of chivalry.

Arthur was heretofore fascinated by the tome, but now he's finding himself distracted by the petite young lady at the next table drinking what appears to be coffee and checking her email on an iPad.

She tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear with her left hand, giving him a good view of both an empty ring finger and the smooth, brown skin of her cheek and neck.

_She's quite lovely,_ Arthur thinks. Then, she glances over at him and he realizes he's been staring. He looks away too quickly and _thinks_ he sees her smirk as she returns her attention to the iPad.

_She has eyes like one of those princesses in an animated_ _Disney movie._ Arthur would never admit to actually having _seen _an animated Disney movie, but he does have a significantly-younger half-sister, so it would stand to reason. And if anyone would ever accuse him of having a _thing_ for Princess Jasmine, he would deny it to his very last breath. Despite the fact that it is 100% true.

He peeks again. She's taking a large envelope out of her bag. It looks like school information. He can see the Oxford letterhead. _I wonder what she's studying…_

"Look, are you going to talk to me or just keep staring like a creeper?"

_Shit._ "What? Oh. Sorry. Was I staring? I was staring," he stammers.

She laughs, loudly and with a freedom he's not used to hearing. "Yes, you _were_ staring," she says. "You wanna tell me why, or should I guess?"

Her brash, unapologetic _Americanism_ gives him pause. "Well, I noticed the Oxford University letterhead, and…" He stops when he sees her smirking at him, eyebrow raised. She's not buying it. "You are distractingly lovely," he admits.

She blinks in surprise, and Arthur's ego sits up and preens for a moment. _That got her._

"Oh. Um, thank you," she says, tucking that same lock of hair behind her ear. It hadn't freed itself from the last time she'd done it, so Arthur thinks this may be a nervous habit.

"May I join you or would I be interrupting?" he asks, closing his book.

"Um… sure, okay. Why not?" she says, moving her bag from the other half of the table top.

Arthur moves himself and his things across the short space to her table, using his book as a tray to hold the small plate with his half-eaten scone.

"Arthur Pendragon," he says, extending his hand across the table.

"Abbie Mills," she answers, shaking his hand. It's large and warm and _just_ calloused enough to give a girl a wayward thought or two. _You just met him. Stop it. Yes, he's gorgeous, but could still be a creeper._

"You're American?" he asks, taking another drink of tea.

"Yes. My sister and I are studying abroad for the semester. Maybe the year, depending on how things go," she says, drinking her coffee. "What's your book?" She turns her head and reads the spine. "_The Code of Chivalry._ A little light reading?"

Arthur chuckles. "I'm working on my doctorate in History. Specializing in the Middle Ages," he explains. "So, I have a lot of very exciting books just like this." He pats the volume on the table. "What are you studying?"

"Criminal Science," she says. "I'm actually a police officer back home, and decided to come over here and see how you guys do things. You know, take a look at crime from a different angle."

_This woman is a police officer?_ Arthur is stunned.

"Don't give me that look," she knowingly says. "Yes, a police officer. I know how to use a gun and everything. So, if you _are_ a creeper…"

"I promise I'm not," he says. "But, I suppose, why would I tell you if I was?" He chuckles now. "Sorry, you're just so… petite…" he attempts, trying to dig himself out of the hole in which he's suddenly found himself.

"And female and young and black, yes, I'm aware, thank you."

"Apologies, I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't," she says, holding her hand up, stopping his apology. "As you can imagine, I've heard it before."

"Indeed," Arthur says. "Forgive me."

He looks so contrite and, well, adorable, with his floppy blonde hair and blue-gray eyes that Abbie forgives him immediately. "Forgiven," she says. "So. Middle Ages. Why Middle Ages?"

"Why does anyone study anything?" he asks casually. "It's what interests me."

"Fair enough," she allows.

He sighs. "My father claims that we're descendants of medieval royalty," he says. "It's been a source of fascination for me since I was a boy."

"Ooo, fancy," she says, feigning being impressed. He laughs. "If you're descended from royalty, then how come you're not living at Buckingham Palace?" she asks.

"Oh, you know how it was," Arthur says airily. "Someone comes along and decides they like your citadel better than theirs or some bastard child the king fathered with a handmaiden gets ideas above his station, and pretty soon there are grisly deaths and usurpations and the old king winds up hanging on a pike by his nethers in the courtyard. Standard stuff."

Abbie is laughing again, leaning forward, her hand on her forehead. "Oh my God…" she breathes. "You are funny."

"Thank you," Arthur answers, grinning proudly.

"Usurpations?" she asks, cocking that eyebrow at him.

_She looks like Crane when she does that,_ Arthur notes. "It's a word," he defends himself. "Hey, if anyone should know that, it's me. 'Tis my field of expertise, you know."

"Oh, 'tis it now?" she asks, teasing.

"'Tis indeed, my lady," he says, raising his mug in salute.

Abbie's phone buzzes, the screen flashing on with a text message, and she looks at it. "Excuse me."

"Of course," he says.

She reads the text from her sister: _Done with interview. Where are you?_

_Café. I'll meet you at home in 10._

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Abbie says, sliding her iPad back into her bag.

"Boyfriend?" Arthur asks, hoping not.

"Sister," Abbie explains. "She had an interview at the library this morning. She's done now, and we have some shopping to do."

"Ah. What is she studying?"

"English Lit, of course," she says.

"Of course," Arthur agrees, smiling.

"Yeah, we're just a pair of nerds," Abbie chuckles, standing.

"Never," he argues, standing as well. "Um…"

"Thanks for the entertainment, Arthur. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Well, actually, I was kind of hoping to not have to leave that up to chance…" Arthur says, running his hand through his hair nervously.

She stops and looks at him. Waiting.

"Have dinner with me Saturday night?"

"Um, thank you, but I don't know…"

"Please?"

She bites her lower lip, thinking. _I do like him. But,_ _I can't leave Gwen, we only _just_ got here. It's our first weekend in England._ "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Damn, you're persistent," she sighs, smiling. "Look, Gwen and I just arrived three days ago. I can't ditch her on our first weekend here just to go on a _date_."

"Gwen's your sister?" Arthur asks.

"Yes."

"Is she as cute as you are?"

"What? Yes. Oh…" Realization hits Abbie.

"I'll bring a friend – a handsome, intelligent, _non-creeper_ friend – for your sister. We'll double."

"I'll ask her," Abbie sighs, knowing that this handsome blonde Brit is not going to take _no_ for an answer.

"Great," Arthur says, bending to write a number on a scrap of paper. "This is my mobile number. Let me know. Saturday at 7:30."

"Okay," she says, taking it. She now allows herself a small smile. "I'll let you know."

"Great," Arthur says, grinning again.

Abbie notices the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and can't help smiling back. "I have to go. Nice meeting you," she says. Then, she's gone.

Arthur sits back down and pulls out his mobile.

It rings twice before a clipped, slightly surly voice answers.

"You're up before noon?"

"Happens occasionally," Arthur says. "New term is starting next week. Have to wean myself back into regular human hours."

"Indeed. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your call, Pendragon?"

"You could just ask 'What do you want?' like a normal person, Crane," Arthur sighs.

"What do you want?" Crane asks, obediently if tersely.

"I need a favor."

"What now?" he sighs.

"I have a date, but she won't go without her sister, so I need you to come be her sister's date."

"Ask Merlin. Isn't he usually your flunky for these sorts of endeavors?"

"You know Merlin is in Japan this term," he says.

"He'd fly back if you asked him," Crane points out. He's not incorrect, but that's not the point.

"Crane."

"What about Gwaine?"

"Busy shagging Vivian these days."

"Ugh. Dreadful."

"Yeah. And don't even bother suggesting Leon or Percival."

"Why is that?" Crane asks.

"Because they've recently decided they'd rather be with _each other_ over any bird."

Crane is silent for a moment, digesting this new information. Percival, star of Oxford's rugby team, and Leon, captain of the Oxford Crew, together. "About time," he finally says.

"You know it, mate."

"What about Abraham?" Crane suggests.

"Abraham is a ferret-faced git and you know it."

"Abraham is my oldest friend."

"Ferret. Faced. Git." Arthur knows why his friend is putting him off, but he needs his help. He hasn't had a date since the whole Mithian blowout six months ago. "Look, Crane: I need to get back out there. And so do you. And this girl is _really_ cute."

"I suppose her sister is a dreadful troll," he says.

"Claims she's not. They're American," he cajoles, trying a new angle, hoping to appeal to his friend's affection for American History.

"Hmm," he says, and Arthur knows he's breaking.

"Ichabod, Katrina has been gone for two years now. She'd want you to move on with your life. She'd want you to find happiness."

And it's out. Katrina, Crane's onetime fiancée, dead two years this past July.

"All right," Crane finally relents. "But, you owe me an as-yet-to-be-named favor, Pendragon."

"Great, thanks! Saturday night, 7:30."


	2. Chapter 2

"You did _what?_" Gwen gapes at Abbie.

"I _tried_ to say no," Abbie explains, palms outstretched. "He was persistent as hell. I didn't give a firm 'yes', honest. I told him I'd talk to you and let him know."

"You got his number?" Gwen asks.

"He gave it to me. I didn't ask."

Gwen pauses, biting her lip, thinking it over. _It _would_ be nice to meet some people. She said he was a doctoral student. Maybe his friend is, too. _"What did he say about his friend?" she asks cautiously.

Abbie lights up. "Handsome, intelligent, and _not_ a creeper."

Gwen rolls her eyes. "Helpful. At least he didn't say 'good personality.'"

"Please, Gwen. Wouldn't it be nice to meet some people so soon? They can show us around. Tell us all the good places to go."

"Damn, Abbie, how cute _is_ this guy?" Gwen laughs.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, fine, _yes,_" Gwen surrenders.

"He's _really_ cute. No. He's fine. Hot. And built, from the looks of him."

"Pig," Gwen laughs.

"You'll be eating those words Saturday night when you see him," Abbie laughs.

"Is he tall?" Gwen asks, raising an eyebrow. She knows her sister's weakness. She's always found it odd, considering how short Abbie is. Gwen is no Amazon herself, but she's taller than her older sister. By two inches.

"Mmm," Abbie thinks, pressing her lips together. "Maybe _just_ under my usual height requirement, but I could make an exception."

"Whoa, that's major," Gwen says, surprised. "He must be something." She pauses a minute. "He have a nice butt?" she asks quietly.

"Oh, yeah," Abbie confirms, knowing _her_ sister's weakness. "Hopefully, his friend won't disappoint."

"He'd better not, or you owe me," Gwen says, playfully shoving her sister's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on. Let's get back to these boxes."

xXx

"What time are they due?" Crane asks Arthur as they wait outside the restaurant. The Mills sisters refused transportation, stating they'll meet the men at the restaurant.

"Settle down, they're not late," Arthur says. "Abbie knows our reservations are for 7:30. They'll be here."

"It's 7:22," he says, checking his watch again.

"Which means they have eight minutes."

"Six."

Arthur looks up at his irritatingly punctual friend. "What kind of maths are you doing?"

"One must factor in greetings and the time taken to walk into the restaurant. It's also bad form to check in with the host or hostess at the exact time of one's reservation. I really—"

"There they are," Arthur interrupts him, saying a silent prayer of thanks. After Merlin, Crane is probably his best friend. That being said, Ichabod Crane is, at times, one annoying bastard.

"Where?"

"There," Arthur nods, waving at Abbie.

Crane watches as the two lovely young women approach. One lifts a hand to wave back, and Crane feels his heart fall a little as he realizes _she_ must be Abbie. Arthur's date. She's breathtakingly beautiful. Her sister Gwen is very pretty as well, a little taller, with curly hair where Abbie's is straight. Abbie's eyes are a lovely deep brown, Gwen's are more of a honey-brown, like a nice cup of tea.

Crane decides he is not disappointed.

Arthur smiles at Abbie, but he finds his eyes continually drawn to her sister, Gwen. He pushes back a wayward thought about Gwen's beauty, trying not to notice how her curls dance around her shoulders, how her eyes have an exotic tilt, giving her face a unique quality that is quite beguiling.

"That's them?" Gwen mutters as they approach. "Which one is Arthur?"

"The blonde," Abbie says, waving. The gorgeous blonde man waves back.

"Really? His friend is taller," Gwen comments, pushing away the stab of disappointment. She briefly wonders how long she'd been staring at the wrong man. Transfixed by her sister's date. She turns her attention to his friend. Tall, thin, but not skinny. Solidly built. Kind, intelligent blue eyes set in a serious face. She's not sure how she feels about the beard, but decides it's not important. This is only one date.

"So he is," Abbie says, realizing she feels a strange pull towards the friend. She's never been much for long hair, but it looks clean and tidy. He has the kindest, most intelligent eyes she's ever seen. He mutters something to Arthur and his left eyebrow quirks upward. _Oh, damn_.

"Arthur, hi," Abbie says, holding her hand out. "Nice to see you again."

Arthur looks at her hand briefly, grasps it, then leans in and kisses both of her cheeks.

"Ah, we're being European, I see," Abbie giggles a little. "This is my sister, Guinevere."

"Gwen," Gwen automatically corrects, giving Abbie a look that clearly says _Why did you introduce me as Guinevere?_

Arthur repeats his actions, grasping Gwen's hand and kissing both her cheeks. "Guinevere," he mutters, just before his lips brush her cheek.

Gwen has never heard her full name sound so… evocative… before. She blinks, snapping out of it. _Your sister's date, not yours._ "Nice to meet you, Arthur," she says softly.

"And my friend, Ichabod Crane," Arthur introduces Crane. "Crane, Abbie and Gwen Mills."

"Miss Mills," Crane greets Gwen, bending to kiss both her cheeks as Arthur had. His beard tickles, but it doesn't send the same tingle through her that Arthur's lips did.

"And Miss Mills," he says, lips quirking into a small, wry smile as he grasps Abbie's hand and kisses both her cheeks.

Abbie's eyes close involuntarily as his lips make contact with her skin. She doesn't mind the beard at all.

"You're very formal," Abbie smiles at him.

Her smile takes Crane's breath away.

"He had a rather posh upbringing," Arthur says.

Crane cocks his eyebrow at Arthur for just a moment. "Good manners are never to be overlooked," Crane says, pointedly looking at his watch again.

"He's also a freak about punctuality," Arthur adds, opening the door of the restaurant.

"So is Abbie," Gwen volunteers, laughing.

xXx

"So, Ichabod, I understand you are a student of American History?" Gwen asks after they've ordered. Trying to find something to talk about. Truth be told, she's trying to distract herself from Arthur.

"Yes," he nods. "I do realize it may seem odd, even traitorous, but your nation's history has always been a topic of fascination for me."

"Mmm," Gwen nods, taking a sip of her wine. Crane had ordered a bottle for the table, at Arthur's insistence.

"Do you learn a lot of American History over here?" Abbie asks, curious. "Because we damn well don't learn much British History in America."

"That's because some Americans often like to pretend other countries don't exist. Or aren't as important," Gwen chimes in.

Arthur laughs, nearly choking on his wine.

Crane merely raises an eyebrow. "We learn some, but not a lot. Mostly dealing with the World Wars, since we were allies. As you can imagine, the American Revolution is not mentioned. We're not keen on studying a war we lost," he answers, smirking. "But, I find it the most fascinating period in your history, followed by the Civil War."

"Mostly, we just humor him. Smile and nod," Arthur whispers loudly to Gwen, who giggles.

"Says the man who secretly wishes dragons were real," Crane says, lifting his wine glass in a silent toast to his friend.

"Hey, dragons are cool," Arthur retorts, defending himself.

"Your last name has 'dragon' in it," Abbie points out.

"That may or may not be relevant," Arthur, says. "Oh, look, soup," he declares, nodding at their waiter, approaching with their soup course.

"Changing the subject," Crane mutters to Abbie. She snorts a small laugh.

"The Middle Ages were a pivotal time in the formation of Great Britain, I'll have you know," Arthur points out. "Dragons would just make it..."

"Cool?" Crane supplies, biting back his smirk.

"Yes," Arthur declares.

"Abbie told me your father claims you're descended from medieval royalty?" Gwen asks. She can see a regal quality in his bearing, but doesn't know if it is really there or if it is her traitorous imagination. _However, Abbie does seem to be getting along with Ichabod pretty well. Better than me, anyw__ay. __I like the guy, but I don't feel any spark._

"That is, indeed, what he claims. It kind of... colored my opinions and preferences most of my life," he says, frowning a little.

"How so?" Gwen asks. He doesn't exactly look happy about this, and it makes her curious.

"Oh, you know. A lot of my classmates thought I was bookish. What was the word you used the morning I met you, Abbie? Nerd?"

"Yep," Abbie says. "We're familiar with that label."

Gwen nods in agreement.

Arthur shrugs. "Some children played soldier. I played knight." He pauses. "I was alone a lot as a boy," he admits.

"Because you were a little weirdo?" Abbie teases, chuckling.

"Oh, I think it's sweet, shut up," Gwen says, shooting a glare at her sister.

Arthur smiles at Gwen, silently thanking her for her support. "It helped that I was good at football, but I was still Odd Man Out most of the time, even on the team. Apparently, athletes aren't supposed to be smart as well."

"That's too bad," Gwen says. She suppresses the urge to place her hand on top of his.

"Well, my mate Merlin is even stranger than I, so I had that going for me. And when I got to university, it all sorted itself out anyway."

"Merlin?" Abbie asks.

Crane chuckles. "Merlin is a medical student. Studying in Japan this term. Wishes to be a forensic pathologist."

"His nickname is already 'Dr. Death,'" Arthur says. "Wants to do autopsies instead of dealing with live patients."

"Oh, like Dr. Baden!" Gwen exclaims.

"Who is Dr. Baden?" Crane asks.

"There was this show on HBO some years back. Gwen was hooked on it. It was all about autopsies and how they were used to solve crimes," Abbie explains.

"It was a good show. Very interesting. And it's not like _you_ didn't watch, too, Abbie, being a cop and all."

"Okay, yeah, I did," Abbie admits. "Anyway, Dr. Michael Baden is, like, the top forensic pathology guy in the US."

"Ah. Then, I'm sure Merlin knows who he is," Crane nods, allowing his eyes to linger on Abbie's face just a fraction too long.

"Probably. Then, I met Crane here, the weirdo Americanophile, and figured he was safe to hang about with," Arthur teases.

"'Americanophile?' That is an interesting turn of phrase," Crane comments. He very neatly places his spoon on the edge of the saucer holding his soup bowl, then sets it to the side very deliberately, as if the empty dish has a specific place.

"He used the word 'usurpations' the morning we met," Abbie says, her eyes watching his hands as they leave the soup bowl and straighten his silverware.

"Well, that is, at least, a real word," Crane declares. "Which is not always the case when it comes to Arthur. He has a penchant for inventing words."

Their salads arrive.

"Miss Abbie, you are a police officer?" Crane asks. "How did you choose that particular profession?"

Abbie notices that Crane doesn't pour his dressing (which he'd specifically ordered on the side) on his salad. Instead, he dips each forkful into the little ramekin of dressing before lifting his fork to his lips.

"Actually, it kind of chose me," Abbie says. "I was undeclared in college; had no idea what I wanted to do. Not like Gwen here, who knew what she wanted to be since the seventh grade."

"I read _Lord of the Rings_ and was hooked," Gwen says, smiling. "Then, I started consuming anything by any British author I could get my hands on. Just something about the way the classics are written..."

Arthur smiles, enjoying the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she loves. Then, he blinks and returns his attention to Abbie. _His_ date.

Abbie smiles at her sister. "Wish I had that sense of purpose when I was 13," she says. "Anyway, a recruiter from the police academy came to my school, and I stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time," she chuckles. "That recruiter wound up being my boss, Sheriff Corbin." Crane watches with concern as her smile fades and is replaced by a hint of sadness.

"He was like a second father to her," Gwen explains. "Our own father is still around, but I don't think he really understands Abbie. He tries, so he gets points for that." Abbie smiles a little and nods her agreement.

"Was?" Arthur asks.

"He passed away this past spring. Unexpectedly," Gwen continues, knowing Corbin's death is still difficult for Abbie to talk about.

"That's when I decided to go back to school. I needed a break from the station..." Abbie's voice trails off. She stabs a cucumber with her fork like it has insulted her.

"Too many reminders," Gwen finishes softly. Abbie nods.

"He was your mentor," Crane says, his voice quiet and sympathetic. He realizes he very much wishes to reach out and comfort her. Then, he remembers his date is actually Gwen, and stays his hand.

Abbie nods again. She clears her throat, really wanting to change the subject. "Gwen got the job at the library," she volunteers, setting her half-full salad plate aside.

"Was the salad not to your liking?" Crane asks, a concerned frown crossing his face.

"It's fine. I'm not a huge salad person. Plus, I want to save room for my entree," she says smiling.

"What will you be doing there?" Arthur asks Gwen, more interested in Gwen's activities than Abbie's salad.

"Oh, some of the usual librarian-type things, but some other stuff as well," Gwen answers. "They remodeled a big portion of the library over the summer, and _someone_ has to organize and re-shelve everything. So, I may be the Queen of Shelving for a while." She smiles as though the prospect isn't entirely horrible to her.

Abbie laughs. "Like the summer you spent working in that used bookstore when it turned out Jenny couldn't do it."

Gwen laughs. "Oh, God, that place was horrid. Musty and dark, _nothing_ where it belonged. And that creepy dude who came in all the time…" She looks at Arthur. "Jenny is our younger sister," she explains.

"Oh, I didn't realize there was a third Mills sister," Arthur says.

"We have a younger sister and a younger brother," Gwen says. "Abbie's older than me by a year. Jenny is two years younger than me, and our brother Elyan is two years behind her."

"Three older sisters. Poor chap," Arthur chuckles.

"Um, yeah. He has seen the inside of a dress or two. In his younger days," Abbie admits, chuckling. "And he may or may not have worn lipstick once or twice against his will."

"Now, he's bigger than all three of us," Gwen says. "He's twenty. Plays football – American football – for the University of Wisconsin."

"Is that a good school for football?" Arthur asks, enjoying the look of pride on Gwen's face when she talks about her little brother.

"Yes, it is. Elyan's only a sophomore, so he's the second-string quarterback. He's hoping to start next year," she explains.

"I have no idea what she's talking about," Crane mutters to Abbie.

"Don't worry about it. Just..."

"Smile and nod?" Crane asks, grinning.

"Yeah," Abbie says. _Okay, he is just too cute for words._ She looks over and sees how Arthur is hanging onto Gwen's every word. _Something needs to be done._

"I'd love to learn more about American Football," Arthur says.

"I'd be happy to teach you," Gwen says. Then, she catches her sister giving her a pointed look across the table. _Oh. Whoops._

Arthur looks around. They've all finished their salads. "They're slow tonight," he comments to Crane. "I would have thought our entrees would have been here by now."

Abbie seizes the opportunity. "Come on," she sets her napkin on the table. "Gwen has a gift. She'll excuse herself to the ladies' room, and the food magically appears when she's gone. Lets go powder our noses, shall we?" She stands, and momentarily startles when Crane also stands, followed by a somewhat sheepish-looking Arthur. "Um, I didn't mean _everyone..._"

"A gentleman always stands when a lady excuses herself from the table," Crane explains. "Apparently, this is not a custom that has survived in the States."

"No," Abbie declares, but she can't help the smile tugging at her lips. She loves his courtly manners.

"We'll be back before you know it," Gwen says, and the two women make their way to the restroom.

"I don't really have to pee or anything," Abbie says once they are in the restroom. "I want to talk to you."

"I know that," Gwen says, hoping she's right about the topic.

"May as well go, though, since we're here," Abbie states, heading for the stall.

"Right."

Washing their hands, Abbie says, "Okay, I kind of feel like a ho, but..."

"You like Ichabod," Gwen says.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe. I was afraid I was imagining it because I _really_ like Arthur. But, you do? Really?"

Abbie nods. "He's not like anyone I've ever met."

"He's really old-fashioned," Gwen says.

"See, I think that's adorable. Charming."

"I think he has OCD. Did you see him? I swear he was eating his salad in alphabetical order. Carrots, cucumber, lettuce, radish, tomato..."

Abbie shrugs. "So, he's tidy. So, he's punctual. So, he wants his silverware perfectly spaced and aligned. So what?"

"Just saying, that's all."

"Yeah, well, you have a crush on Dragon Boy," Abbie says, grinning.

"So what?" Gwen parrots. Then, her smile falls. "What do we do?"

Abbie sighs. "I dragged you here; I'll take care of broaching the subject."

"Good answer," Gwen agrees. "We should get back."

"Right. Hey, Gwen?"

"What?"

"Arthur hasn't been able to take his eyes off of you," Abbie says quietly as they walk back to the table.

"Yes, well, Ichabod looks at you like he's completely in love," Gwen answers.

"So, this _might_ be an easy conversation, after all," Abbie says.

xXx

"Crane," Arthur says as soon as the ladies are out of earshot, "I've got a problem."

"Surely you didn't neglect to stop in at the chemist's before dinner..." Crane answers. "Or did you forget your wallet?"

"No, not _that,_" Arthur answers, waving his hand dismissively. "I... I'm really attracted to Guinevere. Like, _really._"

"Ah," Crane replies, his clouded expression brightening.

"Besides, I wasn't planning on sleeping with Abbie tonight. It's only the first date. And I _have_ my bloody wallet," he clarifies. Then, he notices the strange look of relief on Crane's face. "What?"

"I must confess, I've been mentally chastising myself all evening for my own wayward thoughts about Miss Abbie," Crane says.

Arthur laughs with relief. "I think she fancies you more than me, actually," he says. "She's certainly been talking to you more."

"Well, Miss Gwen has been hanging onto your every word," Crane points out. "She seems very interested in your dragon obsession," he chuckles.

"Really? You think she likes me?" Arthur asks. "God, I feel like a heel. I ask a girl out and wind up fancying her sister instead. But, Abbie _does_ seem to like you, so..."

"What do you recommend we do about this conundrum?" Crane asks. "I am merely here as your 'wing man', so..."

Arthur laughs. He knows how much Crane hates that term. "Yes, I'll handle it. When they return, I'll find some way to bring it up."

"They are returning now," Crane nods in their direction, allowing himself to appreciate Abbie's form as she approaches. _Petite, curvaceo__us,__ and exquisitely beautiful._

Their food arrives just before Abbie and Gwen sit. Crane and Arthur once again stand when they reach their seats. Arthur smiles at Gwen. Crane slides Abbie's chair in for her when she sits.

_Yeah. I don't think this will be a problem,_ Abbie thinks, noticing how Arthur's eyes linger on her sister.

"See, it worked," Abbie says, looking down at her plate. "Gwen, your record is intact."

"Even in another country. Nice," Gwen says, smiling.

They each dig into their meals, and it's quiet for a few minutes. Gwen glances across the table at Abbie once or twice. Crane gives Arthur a couple of very pointed looks.

"So," Abbie finally says, "um... okay, this is awkward."

"Hmm?" Arthur says, setting his fork down.

"Arthur, you're a really great guy and everything, and I like you, but..." she pauses, biting her lower lip.

"You like Crane better," Arthur says simply.

Abbie's eyes widen. She looks at Gwen. "It _was_ that obvious, shoot..."

"No, no, it's fine," Arthur quickly says. "He likes you, too. And, to be perfectly honest..." Now it's his turn to run out of words, looking over at Gwen, who is holding her breath. "I'm quite taken with Guinevere."

Gwen releases her breath and takes a long drink of water. "I think you're wonderful, Arthur." She smiles at him. "Um, sorry, Ichab..." she starts to apologize, but when she looks over at him, Crane is gazing fondly at Abbie.

"The feeling is quite mutual, Miss Abbie," Crane says softly. "I haven't felt this sort of fondness for anyone in quite a while," he admits. _Not since Katrina died._

Arthur gives him a sad, understanding smile. The sisters get the sense there's something they don't know yet, but neither presses the issue at the moment.

"Well, that was easier than expected," Abbie finally sighs. She looks at Arthur. "I was just going to ask you if you were disappointed, but I can clearly see you're not," she chuckles. Arthur has reached over and is softly stroking the back of Gwen's hand.

"This date certainly turned out unexpectedly," Crane says, smiling.

"In a good way?" Abbie asks.

Crane takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. "Most definitely."

"In a very good way," Gwen agrees, her eyes meeting Arthur's.

"The best," Arthur agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

_My dear Miss Abbi_e_, I have in my possession two tickets to the symphony concert this Friday night. I would be delighted if you would accompany me. I apologize for being so __coarse__ as to make this request via voice-mail, but I know you are currently immersed in your studies and I wished to give you ample time to check your schedule. I will await your reply and remain respectfully yours, Ichabod Crane._

Abbie listens to the voicemail for the fourth time, memorizing his perfect diction, each place his voice rises and falls, the way he softly caresses each word with his mouth…

_Get a grip on yourself, Gi__rl__._

She hits the button to replay it. She giggles at the way he verbally hyphenates "voice-mail," even though it's not a hyphenation. She loves how he pronounces schedule as "shed-yule" not "sked-jull." She smiles at how he signs off as though the message is written correspondence.

"Girl, how many times are you going to listen to that voicemail?" Gwen asks, lightly tapping Abbie on the top of her head with a book as she passes behind her.

"What? I'm not..." Abbie stammers, quickly stopping the message.

"Yes, you are. Just call him back already," Gwen laughs. "Keep the message, obviously, but call him back before he has a heart attack waiting for your reply."

"You going out with Arthur soon?" Abbie asks. Classes started this week, and they've all been ridiculously busy. Abbie and Gwen have seen Crane and Arthur just a handful of times, but the string of phone calls and text messages is already quite long.

"Yeah. He asked me at lunch. We're going go-karting Saturday afternoon. Then, he mentioned something about pizza."

"Hmm, British pizza, I don't know about that..." Abbie says, wincing slightly.

"I know. I'm nervous," Gwen agrees, laughing. "I'm a little scared there'll be… what are those things? Kippers? on it."

Abbie laughs. "Or, they'll boil it. From what I understand, they like to boil things."

"Ugh," Gwen replies. "That's one thing I'm really going to miss. Good, American pizza."

"_New York_ pizza," Abbie clarifies.

"I want some now," Gwen says, flopping onto the couch beside her sister. She nudges her with her shoulder. "Call Ichabod."

"Yeah, I should." She checks her watch. "He's done with his classes by now."

"You know his schedule already?" Gwen asks.

Abbie gives her a _look_. "Tell me you don't know Arthur's." Gwen bites her lip and says nothing, caught. "And it's pronounced_ shed-yul_e, I think you'll find," Abbie adds, grinning as she calls Crane.

xXx

"What are they performing?" Gwen asks, leaning in the doorway while Abbie gets ready. They're having dinner first, then on to the concert.

"Um... shoot. _Scheherezade_ and... Beethoven something." Abbie walks over and presents her back to Gwen, holding her hair out of the way.

Guinevere zips up the back of her sister's dress. Abbie lets her hair fall back into place, and Gwen runs her fingers through it, arranging it. "You should wear it up with this dress," she recommends.

"Ugh," Abbie groans.

"I'll do it for you," Gwen says, pulling her sister to the bathroom. She knows Abbie never got her knack for putting her hair up. Gwen is the master of the stylish chignon, able to twist her hair back without even looking at it, often jamming a pencil through to secure it, never lifting her eyes from her book.

Abbie always said if she attempted that "messy bun" look, it would turn out looking like she slept on it.

"I'll do it neatly ," Gwen says as she gathers up Abbie's hair, knowing her sister's preference. "French twist. Always classy. And tidy."

"Thanks," Abbie says, smiling. "Feels like when we were kids," she chuckles.

"Except we're not dipping into Mom's makeup," Gwen laughs. "And, you didn't straighten your hair when we were kids," she adds, placing a jeweled clip in Abbie's hair to secure it. "There."

"What are you doing tonight?" Abbie asks.

"Probably reading. Texting Arthur. He has lessons to prepare for that class he's basically teaching, and since we're going out tomorrow and I need to finish my research, he was going to get a jump on them," Gwen says, walking into the living room. Arthur is a Teacher's Assistant for one of the tenured professors this term, and after the first day it became clear he was going to be doing pretty much all the work.

Almost on cue, her phone chimes. Gwen lifts it from the table, looks at it, smiles, and sets it back down.

"Well?"

"I'm supposed to let him know when you're gone," she answers, blushing slightly. "He's going to call, I guess."

"Phone sex already?" Abbie teases.

"Grace Abigail Mills, we are not having phone sex!" Gwen exclaims, blushing further.

"I know. It's just fun making you blush," Abbie says, laughing. "I'm the only one who can, you know... for now..."

"Stop!" Gwen laughs, waving her hands. She sits on the couch and pointedly reaches for her book. "What time is Mr. Crane due?"

"Any minute..." there's an exceedingly polite knock on the door, "now." Abbie smiles and goes to the door.

"Hey," she says, looking up at Crane. She stares momentarily, taking a moment to appreciate him in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit and burgundy tie. His hair is tied back in a neat ponytail. _He looks gorgeous._

He leans over and brushes his lips against her cheek. "Miss Abbie, you look... stunning," he says, clearly taken with her appearance. His eyes rove appreciatively over her form, clad in a simple v-neck sheath dress, also burgundy. It accentuates her curves in all the right ways. Crane clears his throat, allowing his eyes almost an entire second to linger on her cleavage.

"Thank you," she says, smiling. "We match," she adds, reaching up to touch his tie.

"Indeed we do," he agrees, smiling.

"I'll just grab my coat," Abbie says, stepping over to the closet.

"Hello, Miss Gwen, lovely to see you again," Crane calls to Gwen, having just noticed her on the couch. She is looking at her phone, which is resting inside the book opened on her lap.

"Hi, Ichabod. Have a good time," Gwen answers, looking up and waving.

"Thank you," he nods, delicately lifting Abbie's coat from her hands and holding it out for her as she slips her arms into the sleeves.

"Thanks," Abbie says, smiling. She turns and Crane reaches for the doorknob, opening the door for her before ushering her out with a gentle hand on the small of her back.

"Do make sure you lock the door behind us, Miss Gwen," he turns and says. "You are here all alone and attention to your safety is paramount."

"I will, thanks." Gwen smiles and sets her book aside as the door closes with a soft click. "'Miss Gwen'," she mutters, smiling, as she crosses to the door, scrolling to Arthur's number on her phone.

He answers immediately. "Guinevere."

"Hi," she answers, feeling her cheeks (and perhaps a couple other places) grow warm at the sound of his voice speaking her name. She turns the lock, and the deadbolt slides into place. "How are you?"

xXx

Crane takes Abbie to his favorite pub for dinner so she can experience some "proper English pub fare."

The Rising Sun is a dimly lit place with dark wood tables and chairs upholstered with dark red leather. It's everything Abbie would have imagined an English pub to be.

Crane is acutely aware of the appreciative looks Abbie is receiving as they walk through and find a table, so he takes special care to keep her close at his side, his hand skimming her back.

Abbie is also aware of the appreciative looks she is getting, but pays them no heed. She's surprised at how uninterested she is in anyone else there, despite the fact that there are some pretty good-looking guys checking her out. She's surprised at how focused she is on Crane after knowing him for such a short amount of time.

And she's loving the attention Crane is paying her. He takes her coat and drapes it neatly over the back of a chair, taking care that it is not touching the floor. He pulls out her chair for her and only sits once she is seated.

"This is cool," she says, looking around. She reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, only to find no lock to tuck. _Gwen did a good job._ She drops her hand to the table.

"You look beautiful, Miss Abbie," Crane says, complimenting her again. He slides his hand over the table and takes hers.

"Thank you," she says. "You look very handsome, too," she adds, realizing she hadn't complimented him yet on how incredible he looks.

"Thank you," Crane answers, smiling warmly at her.

"Gwen did my hair," she adds, suddenly shy. _Stupid thing to say._

"She did a lovely job," he says. His blue eyes focus only on her, like she is the only person in the pub. "Of course, she had marvelous material with which to work."

Abbie smiles and looks down. "I'm not used to so many compliments," she says, staring at their joined hands on the tabletop. _He has_ _really nice hands. Really long fingers…_

His face clouds as though a grave injustice has been done. "Why ever not?" he asks, cocking his head slightly.

"Being a cop, it doesn't really come with the territory," she shrugs, looking up at him. "If another officer compliments me, it's usually because he wants a favor. If a perp compliments me, it's _always_ because he wants a favor. Like a 'Don't write me this ticket' kind of favor."

He smiles. "That is a pity. A woman should always be made to feel appreciated."

"I think you're the last gentleman left on earth," she says, returning his smile. Once again, she's struck by how drawn she is to him. _ He's not my usual type, but there's just something about him. Polar opposite of Luke. However, that's probably a good thing._

"Oh, I wouldn't say—"

"Crane! Where have you been hiding?" a voice exclaims, and a tall, thin man with a head of medium brown curls appears.

"Ah, hello, Leon," Crane looks up. "Allow me to introduce Miss Abbie Mills. Miss Abbie, a dear friend of mine, Leon Foreman."

Leon extends his hand and Abbie, smiling, shakes it. "Nice to meet you, Leon," she says.

"Pleasure," Leon answers. "You're American?"

"Yes," she nods. "Been here for about two weeks now."

"Welcome," he says, smiling. He's got a friendly smile, and his eyes twinkle with warmth. Abbie likes him immediately. "What can I get you to drink?" he asks, setting menus on the table between them.

"Leon is the finest barman in town," Crane explains. "Miss Abbie?"

"Um, just a Diet Coke, I think. With lime, please, if you have it."

"I do. Crane, usual?"

"No, we have plans after dinner that involve driving," he answers.

"Ginger beer, then," Leon says, and Crane nods.

"Ginger beer isn't alcohol?" Abbie asks as Leon walks away.

"Not technically. There is a nominal amount of alcohol. Children drink it," he says.

"Oh. Interesting," she nods.

"You are welcome to try a sip," he offers.

"Thanks, I think I will," she decides, looking at the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"Fish and chips," he says decisively. "Your first proper English pub dinner must be fish and chips."

"Fish and chips it is, then," she says.

They see Leon making his way towards them with their drinks. He is waylaid by another man, just slightly taller than he but twice as broad, with short hair and a boyish face. Leon pauses and tilts his head, smiling as the second man drops a kiss on his cheek.

"Oh." The soft exclamation of surprise is out before Abbie can stop it. "Sorry. That was rude of me. I was just surprised..."

Crane chuckles understandingly, squeezing her hand. "If it will make you feel better, it is very recent news," he says.

"Here we are," Leon says, setting their drinks down.

"I see Percival has arrived," Crane says, smirking at his friend.

"Ah. Right. About that..."

"Arthur already informed me, my friend. Do not give it another thought," Crane says. "I am happy for you both."

"Oh, good. Have you decided?" he asks, indicating the menu.

"Fish and chips for Miss Abbie and myself," Crane declares.

"Two fish and chips," Leon repeats, nodding. He turns and almost runs smack into Percival, who made his way over after he saw Crane. "Oh! Hey," Leon exclaims, laughing.

"Sorry," Percival grins, his hands lingering on Leon's biceps where he had reached out to steady him. "Didn't mean to creep up on you like that."

"Remarkably quiet, this one," Leon says. He pats Percival on the chest once, then heads behind the bar, where he disappears into the kitchen.

"Evening, Ichabod," Percival says, nodding in a friendly way.

"Nice to see you, Percival," Crane answers. "Percival Moore, may I present Miss Abbie Mills. Percival is another dear friend."

"Hi, nice to meet you." Abbie smiles and shakes Percival's hand. Her small hand is completely engulfed by his, but his touch is remarkably gentle.

"You, too. Oh! Mills… I met your sister at lunch today. She was with Arthur," Percival says.

"Oh, really? Wait, she _did_ say she met one of Arthur's friends. Must have been you," Abbie smiles.

"It was, indeed. Lovely to meet you, Abbie, but I'll leave the two of you in peace and retire to the bar so I can spend my evening annoying the hell out of my boyfriend," Percival says, grinning.

"That shouldn't be difficult," Crane says, smiling, and Abbie laughs.

"Okay, he is just too adorable," Abbie says as Percival walks away. "I just want to keep him in my pocket."

Crane looks at her as if she's gone quite mad. "Beg pardon?"

"Oh, um, sorry. That came out weird, didn't it?" Abbie says. "Um, yeah," she pauses, trying to figure out how to explain herself. "I didn't mean I was _attracted_ to him or anything... and anyway, he's gay ... but... damn it, he's like an overgrown teddy bear, that's all!" She throws her hands up in surrender.

Crane chuckles. "That is a rather astute deduction," he says, impressed.

"I'm very good at reading people," Abbie says, reaching for that invisible lock of hair again. "It's part of what makes me good at my job."

"I can see how such a skill would be beneficial in police work," he says. He wonders what her assessment of him would be. He wonders if he should ask.

"You, on the other hand, are still waters that run very deep," she says, answering his question before he even gets a chance to ask. She looks up into his kind blue eyes. "You observe everything around you, taking so much in, but you keep it to yourself," she says. "It's fascinating."

His lips twitch into a small smile. "I have an eidetic memory," he says. "I remember everything. Everything I read, everything I experience, every word I speak and hear. _Everything._"

"Wow."

"It's... exhausting, to be honest. Sometimes, there are things I wish I could forget," he says, and Abbie nods sympathetically. She notices a shadow cross his face, and while she wonders about it, she doesn't press.

"The stillness of my... 'waters'... is from years of self-preservation. I do try not to advertise my strange ability," he says, frowning slightly. "My head has been on the inside of too many toilet bowls to go around lording my gifts over people," he adds with a mirthless laugh.

"Kids can be cruel, I know," Abbie agrees, and now it is her turn to frown over unpleasant memories.

"Fortunately, my memory is very beneficial for studies," he adds, brightening.

"Well, yeah," Abbie agrees, smiling again. "I think Leon is coming with our food," she nods.

"Excellent," Crane says.

"Yeah. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." She takes a sip of her soda. "Oh, I was going to try…" her words die off as Crane is already sliding his beverage over to her. She takes a sip. Then, another. "Oh. It's… kind of like ginger ale, but a bit stronger. It's good."

Crane nods as Leon places their plates in front of them. "Enjoy," he says. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I don't suppose you have ketchup, do you?" Abbie asks, biting her lower lip. "I know that's probably not what you guys put on your fries – chips – but I would love some ketchup. If you have it, please."

"Of course," Leon says, grinning at her. "Won't be a moment."

Crane leans over to Abbie, his lips close to her ear. "I have a secret," he whispers conspiratorially.

Abbie looks at him, her face puzzled.

"I love ketchup, too," he confesses. Then, he sneaks a light kiss on her cheek before straightening up.

Abbie's stomach flops at his touch. "Americanophile," she teases, poorly attempting to mask the flustered mess he has just made of her. _Damn, Gir__l__, all__ he did was whisper in your ear and kiss your cheek._

"Indeed," he agrees. He is smiling, but there is a softness in his eyes that might have been unsettling to Abbie if she wasn't so certain her expression was mirroring his.

Leon sets the bottle of ketchup on the table and slips away, noticing the electricity crackling between them.

Abbie looks down, the intensity of Crane's gaze overwhelming her, and the spell is broken, for now.

"Do tell me more about your police work," Crane prompts, picking up his fork.

xXx

"So, do you always keep concert tickets 'in your possession', or did you buy these especially?" Abbie asks as they find their seats.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, my parents have season tickets. They were unable to attend tonight's concert as my mother is staying with her sister, so Father asked if I would like them. My aunt recently had her hip replaced. Mother is helping out until she recovers."

"Ah, well, that was nice of him," she says, smiling. "These are excellent seats."

"Father wouldn't have it any other way," he says.

"Oh, yes, the posh upbringing, was it?" Abbie asks.

Crane snorts. "What our Arthur failed to mention is his upbringing was even more posh than mine. He had his own butler."

"Really? Damn," Abbie says, blinking. "Well, he _did_ say his father claimed they were descended from royalty."

"Uther Pendragon is one of the richest men in the country. He is acquainted with my father, of course, but Arthur and I never met before University."

"What does your father do?" she asks. She looks down at his hand, dangling from the armrest between them. She remembers the warm feeling of her hand nestled in his at the pub, and wants that again. She reaches over and twines her fingers with his.

He smiles. "He was a professor of Anthropology. He's retired now, of course. Mother was a librarian."

That's not exactly what Abbie was expecting, but it stands to reason that Crane's parents are scholars. _Posh upbringing, but Dad was a professor. Must be old money. Not my business, anyway._ "Do you have any siblings?" she asks.

"No. I would have loved a brother or sister, but it was not in the cards," he says, frowning slightly.

Abbie takes this to mean they were unable to have any more children. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says. Crane nods once, and she knows her assumption must be correct. "For what it's worth, I used to wish I was an only child, sometimes," she says, smiling a little. "Siblings can be a giant pain in the butt."

He chuckles. "I'm sure your younger brother would agree," he suggests, remembering Abbie's comment about she and her sisters using him as their dress-up doll.

Abbie laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure he would." During their conversation, the musicians have been gradually making their way to the stage, and now, the lights dim.

Abbie doesn't say much during the concert, holding Crane's hand throughout the entire performance. The only time they parted ways was during intermission, when Abbie had to use the restroom. His proximity is a little addictive, in fact, and she finds herself dreading the end of the date. She instinctively knows he won't be inviting her to spend the night with him, but she's fine with that.

Crane, on the other hand, has difficulty concentrating on the music. He knows the performance is excellent, but he finds himself increasingly distracted by the young lady at his side. He hasn't felt this drawn to someone since Katrina. _No. Not ever. I was never this... consumed by Katrina. _Even though they've only known one another a short time, he knows in his heart that Abbie understands him. Truly understands him. And she's honest. Refreshingly, unapologetically honest. _She won't keep secrets from me._

"That was a good concert," Abbie says as they exit the theatre and head to Crane's car. "I think the last symphony concert I went to was when I was an undergrad. My sophomore year roommate's boyfriend was in the university symphony. Occasionally, I'd go with her to the concerts."

"Were they very good?" he asks, curious.

"Pretty good, yeah. Not like what we just saw, but close," she says. Crane opens the passenger side door for her. "Thank you." She watches him stride around the car on his 10-foot-long legs to the driver's side. "I'm still adjusting to the steering wheel being on that side," she says when he enters.

"When you return home, you'll feel the same way, but the other way around," he jokes, starting the car.

Abbie laughs. "Probably," she agrees as he pulls out of the lot. Abbie doesn't want to go home yet. She's still working on how to bring up the topic when he parks the car in front of her building.

"I had a wonderful time, Miss Abbie," Crane says. He reaches for her hand.

"Um... would you like to come up for a... cup of tea? You can show me how to make a proper one... if you want."

"I'm not certain I should," he says, but he looks conflicted.

"Ichabod, I... I'm not trying to seduce you, I promise," she blurts. _May as well lay the cards on the table._

He blinks, caught off guard. "Oh. Um, I did not think that was your plan, but... won't we disturb Miss Gwen?"

"Probably not," Abbie looks at the clock on the dash of the car. It's nearly eleven. "She'll probably be in her room by now, anyway." She squeezes his hand. "I'm just not ready for our date to be finished yet," she admits.

Crane smiles. "Very well. But, like Cinderella, all this," he indicates his dapper suit with his free hand, "turns back into rags at the stroke of midnight."

"And your car turns into a pumpkin, got it," Abbie says, smiling. "Come on, Cinderella, let's have some tea." _Or someth__ing. A girl can hope, anyway._

xXx

Gwen is, in fact, in her room, sitting up in bed, watching TV. Abbie pokes her head in the door to let her sister know she's home, and that Crane is with her. She leaves before Gwen can make any innuendos about _why_ he's there and how long he's staying.

In the kitchen, Crane shows Abbie how to make tea "the British way", but he laments her lack of what he calls "basic necessities" like a tea ball or a tea strainer or even a "real" kettle, promising to help her acquire these items soon.

Abbie tells him about iced tea, hoping to fluster him. Unfortunately, he is well aware of the concept, causing Abbie to pout.

Crane smiles down at her, looking adorable while they wait for the water to heat ("No microwave," he had firmly declared). Before he can stop himself, he leans down, cups the back of her head with his hand, and kisses her pouting lips.

Abbie's eyes flew wide for a split second before dropping closed, her hands resting lightly on his chest. He lingers over her lips just long enough to make her want more. But, before she can part her lips and deepen the kiss, he gently pulls away.

"Apologies, Miss Abbie," he whispers, looking down into her large brown eyes, "I had intended to ask permission before kissing you."

"Well, I think you have your answer," she says, smiling. She can hear the hiss and soft gurgle of the water boiling on the stove. "I think the water's ready."

They take their cups and move to the sofa, Crane still shaking his head at the "ridiculous" amount of sugar Abbie added to her tea. They chat softly for a bit, talking of unimportant things like television shows and popular music. They both want to pick up where they left off in the kitchen, but neither is brave enough to make the leap.

Then, during a lull in the conversation, Abbie nervously licks her lips, and Crane's eyes drop to them immediately.

"Miss Abbie..." he starts, his voice soft, almost a whisper. He moves closer.

"You can just call me 'Abbie', you know," she answers, also whispering, her hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.

"Abbie," he amends, and his lips are on hers a few seconds later.

Her arms come up to circle his neck as his other arm slides around her waist, pulling her closer. Her lips are so soft and lush, better than he imagined them to be, and he hums a soft groan in the back of his throat.

His groan makes her stomach do that flip thing again, and Abbie parts her lips beneath his, tugging at his lower lip, gently coaxing them apart. When he feels the tip of her tongue against his lips, he surrenders fully to his impulses, meeting her tongue with his.

Abbie's fingers curl into his hair, slightly dislodging his ponytail as she stretches her small body up to meet his, to stay as close to him as possible. Their tongues dance, acquainting themselves with the warm interiors of each other's mouths.

His arms tighten around her and she allows him (encourages him) to pull her across his lap, never breaking the kiss.

She lets one hand glide down his shoulder to his chest. His suit coat is hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen, along with his tie, and she can feel his pectorals under her palms. There is a lot more muscle than she's expecting, and it's quite a pleasant surprise.

His lips finally leave hers, kissing a path down her jaw to her neck. Her head falls back, giving him more access, and her fingers curl into the material of his shirt. She can feel his warm, broad hands practically spanning her back, softly stroking it. She wants them everywhere, but they never travel below her waist or towards her front.

However, his lips make up for it.

"Oh..." she breathes, her other hand still in his hair, and the elastic holding it back finally gives way, landing somewhere on the couch. "Ichabod," she whispers his name, her hand now roving freely through his soft brown hair.

Crane kisses his way back to her lips. He is sweeter now, less passionate, and Abbie realizes their little make-out session is waning.

"Abbie," he says, pecking her lips, "you are simply wonderful." He kisses her again. "I've enjoyed this evening immensely."

"Me, too," she agrees, leaning forward to kiss him. "But, you're going home now, aren't you?"

He nods. "I..."

"You don't need to apologize," she says, pressing her finger to his lips. She angles her head at him. "How long has it been? Since you've had a date?"

His eyes widen slightly. _Did Arthur tell her?_ "Is it that obvious?" he asks, trying a different tactic, knowing her ability to read people.

"Well, not _terribly_ obvious," she says, looping her arm around his shoulders, making herself comfortable on his lap. "To be honest, I was half-guessing. It's difficult to tell if you're being this _proper_ because you're out of practice and are being extra careful, or if that's just how you are. I _think_ it's just how you are... but... Leon and Percival seemed a little _too_ happy to see you on a date, so that was a major clue."

"Slightly more than two years," he says. "It is a long story, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Wow. That's a long time," she says. _Hopefully, he'll tell me sometime. Though, it's not going to be now, I know that_.

"Yes," he says softly. He reaches up and lightly strokes her cheek. "Honestly, you are the first woman who has sparked my interest since then."

Abbie smiles. "Well, at least I have that going for me."

"Indeed you do," he agrees, kissing her softly one more time.


	4. Chapter 4

"That's my shirt," Abbie says, peering over the top of her laptop at Gwen. She's just emerged, braiding her hair, clad in jeans and Abbie's gray vee-neck t-shirt.

"Your point?" Gwen says, grinning at her.

Abbie sighs. They've had an "open-door policy" on one another's closets for years now, but they still give each other crap about it. "Don't get pizza on it."

"I won't," Gwen answers. She takes her driver's license and some cash out of her purse and tucks them into her jeans pocket. "Don't want to carry a purse," she explains.

"I don't blame you," Abbie answers. "And I doubt you'll need that cash," she adds. She hasn't told Gwen about Arthur being super rich, figuring it wasn't her news to tell, and she didn't want to put Gwen in the position where she'd have to lie or pretend she doesn't know. Her sister has always been honest, almost to a fault. _Let Arthur tell her if he wants her to know. Not my business._

A moment later, there's a knock at their door and Gwen goes to answer it.

"Hi," she says, smiling at him. He's dressed similarly, in jeans and a red t-shirt with a yellow cannon and the words "Arsenal: The Gunners" underneath it.

"Guinevere," he greets, kissing her cheek. "You look good." He steps fully inside, looking around their flat.

"Thanks. I didn't think I should dress up for go-karting," she says.

"Hey, Abbie," Arthur greets the older Mills sister. He's now walking around their living room a little, looking around.

"Hi, Arthur," Abbie says, laughing a little, remembering how Ichabod stood so properly in the doorway. She has a feeling Arthur is the type who will look inside the medicine cabinet when he uses the bathroom at someone's house.

"Nice place," he declares, smiling. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Gwen says, reaching for a black cardigan sweater hanging on the back of a chair. She loops it over her arm. It's a warm day, but she quickly gets cold and has learned to be prepared.

"Have fun," Abbie calls.

"Thanks. You, too," Gwen answers, knowing Crane has offered to bring over dinner and _Thor: The Dark World_. Abbie grins and ducks her head behind her laptop. She looks at the time. _Ugh. Only 3:30. May as well keep reading._

"Have you ever driven a go-kart before, Guinevere?" Arthur asks, opening the car door for her.

"Um, yes, actually. There's this place back home that has an arcade, go-karts, mini golf, bumper boats, and batting cages. We would sometimes go there when we were in high school, because it was one of the few places a teenager _could_ go, you know?"

"Sounds fun. I've never tried a batting cage," he says. _I'm not completely certain I know what a "batting cage" is, come to think..._

"Do they _have_ batting cages over here? I can't imagine baseball being very popular in England..."

"Um, what, exactly, is a batting cage?" Arthur asks sheepishly.

Gwen giggles. "It's a place where a person can practice hitting baseballs pitched from a machine," she explains.

"Right. Um, I think there are one or two in London," he answers. "And baseball is about as well-known as American Football here. We know they exist, but we're not terribly interested. For the most part."

"Yeah, that's kind of how most Americans feel about cricket. And soccer," Gwen says, grinning impishly at him.

"Ouch..." Arthur says, clutching his chest dramatically with one hand. "You know this is a footie shirt, right?" he points to his t-shirt.

"I suspected it was, but wasn't certain," Gwen says. "Your favorite team?"

"Yep," he confirms, pulling into the parking lot. "I bet you'd like rugby, if you like American football. Percival plays rugby; we'll have to go sometime."

"I'd like that," Gwen says. "And I am _so_ getting you a Wisconsin Football shirt."

"I'd like that," Arthur says, smiling. "Come on. Let's go drive tiny cars."

xXx

"Once I got used to everything being backwards, I did okay," Guinevere declares, taking a drink of her soda while they wait for their pizza.

"Everything wasn't backwards," Arthur says, laughing. "It's _you_," he reaches across and touches the end of her nose with his finger, "who's backwards." He reaches for his drink.

"Oh!" she exclaims, laughing despite herself. "Okay, okay. I acknowledge that, since I'm in another country, it is I who needs to adapt to your ways, but my statement still holds true."

"How so?" he asks, smiling. He sets his glass on the table and folds his hands in front of him like a model student in the front row of a classroom.

Gwen snorts a small laugh and folds her hands in front of herself as well, mirroring him. "To _me,_ based on what _I_ am used to, the steering wheel was on the wrong side and we went the wrong way around the track," she patiently explains, biting back her smile as she plays along with the little scenario he's set up. "So, from _my_ perspective, it was all backwards." She slides her clasped hands forward and playfully bumps his. "I didn't say that the entire concept was backwards from what would be considered some arbitrary form of 'normal'."

Arthur breaks, laughing again, shifting his hands to hold hers. "Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds... reasonable," he says, smiling at her, his thumbs rubbing the backs of her hands. In truth, he was impressed with how well she'd done.

"I'm nothing if not reasonable," she answers, looking down at their hands. The motion of his thumbs is very distracting.

"You almost beat me the second time," he says.

"Yeah, but then that kid got in my way and totally blocked me," she frowns. Their pizza arrives, so Arthur releases her hands to allow the waitress to set it between them.

Gwen looks closely at the pie. _It looks okay,_ she decides, reaching for a slice.

"You seem wary," Arthur observes.

"To be honest, I was a little concerned. But, this looks okay," she says, inspecting her pizza.

"Just 'okay'? This is the best pizza in Oxford!"

"You should try New York pizza sometime," Gwen says, smiling. She takes a bite. "Not bad... I've definitely had worse."

"You're just messing with me," he says, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Maybe a little," she admits, giggling. "Honestly, this is good. Not 'back home' good, but pretty decent."

"I'm glad it meets your approval, my lady," Arthur chuckles.

They eat quietly for a bit, both having been rather hungry. "So," Gwen finally says, "you know about my family. What about yours?"

"Well, I have one," he starts, taking a drink of his soda.

"Good to know," Gwen says, shaking her head at him. "Are they horrible, or...?"

"No, they're fine. It's just kind of... different."

"Different how?" Gwen asks, interested. "Do you have, like, two dads, or something? 'Cause I'd be okay with that. Oh, wait, I know. Your nursemaid was a chimp."

"No, no," Arthur laughs. He reaches for his glass and takes another drink. "My mother died when I was a baby. It's okay, really," he says, smiling reassuringly, seeing her face soften sympathetically, a small crease forming between her brow. She smiles back, and he continues. "Then, my father re-married about... I don't know, 15 years ago? She was his secretary. A lot younger than him. Like, closer to my age than his."

"Oh. Well, actually, that's not too unusual. I've heard of things like that before."

Arthur nods once, and continues. "I have a 13-year-old half-sister called Morgana. She's fine. I don't see her that much, to be honest. I guess she's smart but can be a bit of a spoiled brat at times."

"Well, she's 13," Gwen says. "It's a difficult age, especially for girls."

"True. Father _does_ spoil her, though. She has a pony."

"Really?"

"And a maid," Arthur adds quietly.

"What aren't you telling me?" Gwen asks.

He sighs. "Remember when I said Crane had a posh upbringing?" Gwen nods. "Mine was worse. More so, I mean. My father is a financial tycoon. Plus, we have family money so old it's printed on dinosaur skin."

Gwen chuckles at his joke, but her laughter is short lived. "You're embarrassed by this," she says, realization hitting her. "You don't like people knowing you have more money than the queen."

"Well, technically, _I_ don't. Not yet, anyway. I mean, yeah, I've got a fair amount, 'cause I got pretty much everything Mum had, but Father's the one with the serious cash." He pauses, thinking a moment. "But, you're right. I don't like telling people. It sounds boastful, for one thing, but mainly, I never know if people actually like me as a person or because I have money."

Gwen takes a second piece of pizza, but doesn't eat it right away. "So, why did you tell me?"

Arthur looks across at her. _She's so beautiful, so earnest, completely without pretense. I think that's what drew me to her._ "Because I know you're not that way. I could tell the moment I saw you that you are exactly what you seem."

_And what is that, precisely?_ Gwen wonders but doesn't ask because she doesn't want to sound like she's fishing for compliments. "Thank you," she quietly responds.

He smiles a small smile, then looks down. "I learned the hard way, if you're wondering," he says, reaching for his third piece of pizza.

"Oh..." Gwen says, frowning. "Friend or... girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend," he says, frowning as well. "I'd been dating this girl, Mithian, for about six months. I... I liked her a lot. Pretty, smart, kind. At least, that's what I thought. Turned out she was actually using me to get to my inheritance and was, in fact, in love with some bloke called Cenred. It all blew up this past spring, about six months ago."

"I'm sorry," Gwen says, reaching over to touch his hand. He takes her hand in his again. "And I liked you already, before I knew you had money. My opinion of you hasn't changed one bit, I promise."

He looks across the table at her, then lifts her hand to his lips, kissing it. "I believe you, Guinevere," he says.

xXx

"It's still early," Arthur says, back in his car. "Would you like to see my flat?"

"Um, sure," Gwen answers, surprised but intrigued.

"I'm only asking because I know Crane's probably still over at yours with Abbie," he says.

"Yeah, 'watching a movie,'" Gwen says, making air quotes with her fingers.

Arthur snorts. "With him, it's very likely they're actuall_y watchi_ng the movie," he says, pulling out of the lot and steering towards his home.

"Really? That's not the impression Abbie gave me after what happened last night..." Gwen says.

"Oh?" Arthur asks. Crane didn't say anything much about their date apart from "It was very lovely and I look forward to another."

"Yeah. According to Abbie, they made out a bit," she says.

"Do you and your sister tell each other _everything?_" he asks, a bit worried.

"Almost," Gwen answers. "Just the important things. You know, like having a _snog_ with a cute guy."

Arthur laughs. "Of course. And good job using 'snog', by the way."

"Thank you," Gwen says, smiling. She stretches her neck, tilting her head to the side. "Hmm. Neck's a little stiff. Must be from getting jostled around in that go-kart."

"Oh, sorry," Arthur says, frowning slightly. "Is it very bad?"

"Not too awful," she says. "But, it's not great."

Arthur's flat is quite spacious, but sparsely decorated. As Gwen expected. "Nice place. Big," she observes, looking around. The only thing hanging on any wall is an autographed soccer jersey in a frame. On an end table is a photo of a beautiful young girl with long, black hair and skin like a bar of Ivory soap. Gwen picks it up. "Is this Morgana?"

"Yeah," he says, chuckling. "She always makes sure I have a picture of her. Tells me I'd forget what she looks like otherwise."

Gwen raises an eyebrow at him.

"It's not true, obviously. I don't see her _often,_ but I do see her."

She smiles. "She looks nothing like you," she says, putting the photo down.

"Well, we have different mums and I look like mine. I've seen a few photos of her. And people who knew her have told me," Arthur says, glancing down at the picture for a moment before looking back up at Gwen. "Oh, make yourself at home, please."

Gwen sits on the couch. She sees Arthur remove his shoes, so she follows suit. _May as well get comfortable_. It's pleasantly warm in his flat, so she removes her sweater and sets it aside.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks from the kitchen. It sounds like he's getting a beverage. "I know we just ate, but..."

"I'm fine, thanks," Gwen answers. "Um, but you could point me to your restroom..."

"Right, sorry. First door on the left," he says, walking towards her now with a glass of water in his hand. He points towards a hallway at one end of the living room.

"Okay, thanks," she says, standing.

As she walks past Arthur, he reaches out with his free hand, catching her around the waist. "One second," he says quietly. Then, he leans over and kisses her softly. "Been wanting to do that all night," he whispers.

"Been wanting you to do that all night," Gwen replies, smiling. "Interesting timing, however," she adds.

"Yeah, I'm good at that," he chuckles, releasing her. He watches her walk away and disappear into the hallway.

She knows he's watching her and it takes all of her self-control _not_ to put a little extra swing in her hips.

When she returns, he's seated on the couch and there's music playing from somewhere. Gwen is a little surprised; she was expecting him to have the television turned on. And the song playing is one of U2's older tunes. Not exactly "make-out" music.

"How's your neck? I can get you some Tylenol or something," Arthur offers.

"It's okay," Gwen says, sitting beside him. It's actually getting sorer, but she doesn't want to complain.

"Here, maybe I can help," Arthur offers, turning and guiding her to sit sideways in front of him. He brings his leg up onto the couch so Gwen is sitting between them.

"You don't have to..." she begins to protest, but his hands are already on her shoulders. Then, his thumb strokes the side of her neck, finding the sore spot with surprising speed. "Oh..." she breathes, "that's the spot."

"Lucky guess," he says, massaging her slender neck with his thumbs, finding the knot and rubbing gently, trying to ease it out.

Gwen moves her braid over to her opposite shoulder, keeping it out of his way. _Okay, this feels really good._

"Guinevere, this knot can _not_ feel 'okay' to you..." Arthur says, softly chastising.

"I was... ow... no, good 'ow'... fine," Gwen answers.

"You don't have to be brave for me," he says, his voice closer now.

"I wasn't being brave," she protests, her head dropping forward now, "I was trying not to be whiny."

"Is this helping?" he asks. She can feel him shift behind her, maybe readjusting his position. Moving a little closer.

"Yes," she sighs, "thank you."

The breathiness of her voice is the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back that is Arthur's self-control. He leans forward and kisses her neck, tenderly pressing his lips to the soft skin just below her hairline.

Gwen's breath catches and her eyes drift closed. He kisses her again, and again, each time moving his lips to a new patch of skin, his fingers still kneading the side of her neck.

Arthur's hand on her neck moves slightly, sliding around to gently turn her chin towards him. He closes his lips over hers, smoothly pulling her against his chest. He coaxes her lips apart with his tongue, and when she responds with a pleasurable hum, his hands move to her shoulders, guiding her body around so she is facing him. His arms quickly find their way around her slender body, holding her against his chest as he leans back.

Their tongues slide deliciously against one another. Guinevere's fingers cling to Arthur's shirt for a moment, then one moves up to caress his cheek. Arthur groans low in his throat, and Gwen feels his hand skim down her back, coming to rest on her backside.

A small whimper escapes Gwen's throat, and Arthur removes his hand, almost like he didn't realize he'd done it until she reacted.

"Sorry," he mutters, moving to kiss his way to her ear.

"No, it's fine," she answers. "You can put it back... if you want..."

Arthur chuckles against her ear, nipping the edge lightly. He moves his hand back down to her rear, even squeezing it a little. She giggles as he kisses his way to her neck. Gwen leans her head back, but her neck pulls and she lets out an involuntary grunt of pain.

"Wait..." Arthur says, and with a little shuffling, Gwen finds herself on her back on the couch beneath him.

"Better," she agrees, resting her head on the throw pillow at the end of the couch while he continues his exploration of her neck.

When she shyly reaches her hand down and feels_ his_ bum, he laughs against her collarbone, almost collapsing over her.

"Fair's fair," Gwen says, grinning.

"Mmm-hmm," Arthur agrees, resuming his kisses, moving all the way to the edges of her t-shirt, but not beyond. He tries not to feel too disappointed when her hand leaves his rear end and returns to his back.

"Arthur," Gwen whispers, lightly tugging his hair with her free hand. Arthur understands her meaning and blazes a trail of kisses back to her waiting lips.

They kiss for a short time longer, then Arthur lifts his head and gazes down at her, leaning on his elbows. "I really like you, Guinevere," he says, nuzzling her nose with his. _A lot more than I would have thought possible this early on._

"I really like you, too, Arthur," she says. _I really, really do. Thank you, Abbie, for talking t__o__ him and liking his friend better._

"What's on your mind?" he asks, moving an escaped curl from her forehead.

"Um, I'm glad Abbie liked Ichabod better," she admits, biting her lower lip.

"Me, too," Arthur agrees, grinning stupidly.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two weeks pass pleasantly. Abbie and Crane see each other as much as possible, as do Arthur and Gwen. Their coursework keeps them apart more than they like, but since all are dedicated to their studies, it doesn't cause any problems.

Arthur develops an interest in American football, thanks to Gwen's tutelage. Gwen develops an interest in soccer (or, as Arthur would call it, "real" football), thanks to Arthur's enthusiasm.

Crane develops a taste for jazz (coincidentally, the only truly American style of music), thanks to Abbie's vast CD collection. Abbie develops a taste for superhero action movies, thanks to Crane's surprisingly fanboy-like addiction to the Marvel universe.

Both couples are happy. Both couples are officially exclusive, Crane and Abbie by a sweetly formal declaration from Ichabod one night over dinner; Arthur and Gwen by a mostly-unspoken agreement reached during a goodnight kiss.

But, when Abbie and Gwen learn the men have never had homemade fried chicken, they immediately decide that Something Must Be Done About This.

So, the following Saturday, the Mills sisters invite Arthur and Crane over for a home-cooked meal of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, greens, and biscuits. All homemade.

"You know they call cookies 'biscuits' over here," Gwen comments, mixing the biscuit dough.

"Mmm-hmm," Abbie nods, "I learned that one pretty quickly. She looks up at Gwen from her task of tending the chicken and regards her sister thoughtfully. "But, what do they call biscuits?"

Gwen's hands stop. "I don't know," she answers, thinking. "Maybe they don't have them here."

"We should look next time we're at the market," Abbie says, returning to the chicken.

"Definitely. Maybe we can start something. Little side business," Gwen suggests, smiling.

"During whose spare time?" Abbie asks.

"What is this 'spare time' of which you speak? I know not of this 'spare time'," Gwen answers, dumping the biscuit dough onto the table.

Abbie laughs, and ponders her array of chicken parts, some already frying, some waiting. She turns the chicken in the pan.

"You're sure three chickens aren't too many?" Gwen asks.

Abbie turns. "Have you _seen_ Ichabod eat? I swear, he must be completely hollow inside. It's ridiculously unfair," she frowns.

Gwen smiles sympathetically. "Arthur can put it away, too. Never ceases to amaze me. And stop frowning, you look amazing."

"Thanks. Old habits, you know," she sighs, peeking into the oven. "Mac and cheese looks good. When are they going to get here?"

"Soon," Gwen answers.

xXx

"Oh, my God, this is amazing," Arthur groans appreciatively. For the third time. "I've died and this is heaven, surely."

Crane helps himself to another biscuit, nodding his fervent agreement. "Indeed. Ladies, you have definitely exceeded expectations. This is all excellent. I am particularly fond of these biscuits."

"I can tell. How many have you had now, three?" Abbie asks, smiling.

"I believe so," he answers, grinning.

"Actually, Gwen made them. Our granny's recipe. We both have it memorized," Abbie says, smiling.

"Impressive," Arthur says.

"Well, we made them almost every Sunday," Gwen says. "After a year or so, we realized we weren't looking at the recipe anymore."

"We'll have to make biscuits and gravy for you sometime," Abbie adds. "I think that's a breakfast you English blokes could get behind."

"Sounds intriguing," Arthur says, reaching for more macaroni and cheese. "This is so much better than the boxed stuff."

Gwen and Abbie give each other a _look_ across the table that clearly says, "Seriously?"

Crane sees this and snorts a laugh. "Arthur, I rather think our lovely hostesses believe you have just made a patently obvious statement."

"Hmm?" Arthur asks, his mouth full. He swallows. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"May I have another leg, please?" Crane asks, indicating the chicken platter, just out of his reach. Abbie passes him the platter, and he removes a leg and, after a moment's hesitation, a wing.

"I'm glad you like everything," Abbie says, beaming proudly.

"I do. Even the greens," Crane confirms, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"Yeah, those are pretty good," Arthur agrees.

"Save room for dessert," Gwen adds.

"Dessert? There's dessert?" Arthur asks, his face lighting up.

"Of course there is. Pecan pie," she says.

"Sounds delicious," Crane says, smiling at Abbie.

xXx

Gwen's and Abbie's phones both chime while the four of them are cleaning up after dinner.

"Jenny," the sisters say in unison.

"Your sister?" Arthur asks, rinsing a freshly-washed plate and setting it in the rack.

"Of course, their sister," Crane says, plucking the plate from the rack to dry. The men had offered to wash the dishes, and since Abbie and Gwen both hate doing that particular chore, they were only too happy to acquiesce.

Gwen finishes putting the silverware away and retrieves her phone. "She often texts us both at the same time," she explains. "I'll get this one," she tells Abbie. She looks at her phone and smiles.

"Wants to know how dinner went?" Abbie guesses.

"Yeah," Gwen answers, returning the text.

"Is Miss Jenny at university also?" Crane asks. He calls Abbie by her given name, but Gwen is still "Miss Gwen" and apparently, Jenny is now "Miss Jenny."

"She takes classes online," Abbie says. "She has cystic fibrosis, so it's just easier. She generally prefers to stay home."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," Crane says.

"That's the... lung thing, right?" Arthur asks, curious.

"Yeah," Abbie answers. "She's feisty, though, and if she suspected for a minute you were pitying her, she'd... challenge you to an arm wrestling match. Or something."

"Or something," Gwen echoes, laughing. Her phone chimes and she reads the message. "She wants a picture of you guys."

"Really?" Arthur asks.

"She's always been nosy," Abbie explains. "Symptom of staying home a lot."

"Understandable," Crane nods, setting his towel aside.

"She can wait until we're done cleaning up," Gwen says, moving over to put away more dried dishes.

Abbie finishes dealing with the leftovers and passes Arthur the last pan. "Texting is probably the best thing that happened to Jenny," she says. "She can get all the information she wants without having to talk."

"Is speaking difficult for her?" Crane asks.

"No, but she coughs a lot. She's supposed to cough; it's good for her. But, she also knows she's coughing in someone's ear. So, she does a lot of texting," Abbie says.

"Makes sense," Arthur adds, putting the pan in the rack and pulling the drain plug.

"Yeah, it's also why taking classes online is easier. When she's around other people, they tend to be disturbed by or concerned about the constant coughing. It drives Jenny nuts, even though she knows they just don't understand," Abbie says.

"Yeah, and she has to be careful about picking up germs," Gwen adds.

Kitchen clean, Abbie grabs a piece of paper and a Sharpie and writes "Arthur" and "Ichabod" on it, with arrows pointing up. The men sit next to each other and hold the paper between them, indicating who is who.

Gwen snaps the photo and sends it over. "You guys are too cute," she says, chuckling.

Arthur stands and continues the inspection of their flat he had begun before dinner. He picks up a ceramic pot filled with pens and pencils on the desk. It's lopsided and lumpy and when Arthur looks on the bottom (carefully, not spilling the contents), he sees the initials EJM on the bottom.

"Who is EJM?"

"Elyan," Gwen says, gently removing the pot from Arthur's hand. "He made this for Abbie's birthday when he was seven."

"Oh. Cute," he says, reaching for a framed photo. "Family photo," he comments, looking at it. "Recent, too."

"Yeah, Mom wanted one of all of us before Gwen and I came over here," Abbie says.

"May I see?" Crane asks. Arthur brings it to the couch. It's a standard family photo, with the parents seated and the children gathered around. Thomas Mills is a sturdy man with an open, friendly smile and a light brown complexion like Guinevere's and Jenny's, while Lori Mills has the mature beauty of a woman who was truly stunning in her youth, with darker brown skin like Abbie's and Elyan's.

"Handsome family. You look like your mother, Abbie," he says. "You have her eyes."

"Yeah," Abbie agrees. It's something she has heard a lot. "You should have seen her back in the day. She was a knockout."

Crane smiles up at Abbie. "If she looked anything like you do now, then I am certain she was breathtaking."

Abbie smiles shyly and looks down.

Gwen's phone chimes, but Arthur speaks before she retrieves it. "You have your father's smile, Guinevere."

"His eyes, too," Gwen says. "It's interesting how the DNA works in our family. Abbie looks just like Mom, I look just like Dad, and Jenny and El are both a mixture. Like, Jenny has Mom's eyes but Dad's coloring and mouth, but not his smile." She points out details while she talks, leaning over Arthur's shoulder.

"Not that Jenny smiles much," Abbie adds, leaning over Crane's shoulder.

"Hush," Gwen says, swatting her sister lightly on the arm. "And Elyan has Dad's eyes and build, but Mom's smile and coloring."

"Fascinating," Crane nods, studying the photo. "I can tell your brother is an athlete. He has the build and bearing of one."

"Yeah, he's built like Dad," Abbie says. "Hey, see what Jenny texted," she tells Gwen.

"Oh, yeah," Gwen says, moving around to pluck her phone from the coffee table. She sits beside Arthur on the couch, reads the text, and chuckles. "Oh, boy. 'I wouldn't mind being in the middle of that Brit-boy sandwich.'"

Arthur snorts, laughing, and Crane blushes a dark pink, pressing his lips together.

Abbie laughs a little, too. "About what I expected."

"Oh, she's just sent another: 'What the 'F' kind of name is Ichabod, anyway?'" Gwen looks up. "I'm actually a little curious about that myself, though I would have phrased it differently."

Crane smiles and sighs, clearly having dealt with this question his whole life. "It's a family name," he explains. "There has been an Ichabod Crane in my father's family since the 1600s."

"Wow," Abbie says. "That's... really impressive."

"The original Ichabod Crane, who is a several-times-great-grandfather of mine, was a remarkable man. So the story goes, that is. He is reported to have fought for the rights of the Puritans in England before they left for the New World."

"That's pretty cool," Gwen says, sending Jenny a text, presumably giving her the condensed version of Crane's story. "And we get the whole 'family name' thing. Abbie's first name is actually Grace."

"Really?" Crane says, looking at Abbie. "That's a lovely name, why do you not use it?"

"To avoid confusion, I guess," Abbie shrugs, perching on the armrest beside Crane. Then, she chuckles. "Coincidentally, the name 'Grace' has been in our _mother's_ family for several generations. We don't know exactly how many. The genealogy of many African-American families can't be traced back too far. Generally, anything earlier than, oh, 1900, can involve a certain amount of guesswork."

Crane nods, understanding.

"But, our mom's older sister is our Aunt Grace," Guinevere says, picking up the story. "After having twin boys, she decided she was done. So, when Mom had Abbie, she was named Grace Abigail. They called her 'Abbie' to avoid confusion. Plus, I think that's what they _really_ would have called her had they allowed themselves the option."

"Very interesting," Crane says.

"Anything meaningful about your name, Guinevere? Apart from it just being an amazingly beautiful name, I mean?" Arthur asks, leaning over and kissing Gwen's cheek.

Gwen smiles and takes Arthur's hand. "Not really. Well, my middle name is, sort of. Abbie's first name is Grace. My middle name is Hope. Jenny's middle name is Faith, and Elyan's is Justice. So, there's definitely a theme."

"Cool," Arthur says. "I was named after my mother's grandfather."

"What's your middle name?" Gwen asks.

"I have two, actually. Henry Alistair. No meaning, as far as I know."

"One must possess two middle names when one grows up having one's own butler," Crane teases.

"Hey, _o__ne_ did not ask for a bloody butler," Arthur argues, shoving Crane playfully. "And Neville was brilliant, Ichabod _Tarquin_ Crane."

"Tarquin? Ooo, ouch," Abbie says, leaning down and wrapping her arms around Crane's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Baby," she adds, kissing his temple.

"Thank you," Crane says, shooting a haughty look at Arthur. "Unfortunately, the middle name has lived on as well."

"Well, we can't help what our parents have chosen to call us," Gwen says, shrugging. "Now, who's ready for dessert?"


	6. Chapter 6

"That was as good as I remembered," Abbie says, cuddling against Crane under a blanket on his couch. They'd just finished watching _The Avengers_, another selection from Crane's Blu-Ray library. "But, with a memory like yours, do you really need to see a movie more than once?" she asks.

"Every time I watch, I notice new things," he says, chuckling and kissing her temple. "I may remember everything I see and hear, but that doesn't necessarily mean I see and hear_ everythin_g, my sweet."

Abbie stretches, leaning back against him. "I can't decide who I like better: Iron Man or Thor," she muses. "Probably Thor. Must be the accent," she says, grinning up at Crane.

"I have always enjoyed—"

"Captain America?" Abbie guesses, cutting him off.

He laughs. "Yes, of course. Apart from the obvious reasons, I find it admirable how, being from a different time, he is able to adapt so well to modern society ."

"Yeah, culture shock would definitely be a thing," she agrees, smoothing the blanket over them.

The movie has gone back to the menu screen, and Crane reaches for the remote, shifting behind Abbie as though he is about to stand.

She turns and places a hand on his shoulder, gently stopping him from rising. "Leave it," she whispers. Then, she kisses him.

Crane immediately responds, wrapping his arms around her, leaning into her.

Abbie hums contentedly, sliding her hands up his chest. One strays into his beard while the other clings to his neck. She tugs gently, and is pleasantly surprised when he acquiesces, leaning over her as she lies back on the couch. The blanket is half on the floor, half trapped beneath Abbie.

Crane has been stalwartly _vertical_ about their little make-out sessions. She's not quite ready to take the Big Step either, but they've been together for over a month now. And while she loves his polite, respectful, almost antiquated manners, she's ready for him to at least take a _tiny_ step forward.

And, last night, Gwen came home with her shirt mis-buttoned. Abbie felt the sickening tug of jealousy combine with her confusion over whether or not her ego should be bruised by Crane's insistence upon being _proper._ Or whatever he wants to call not moving past first base.

_"Um, Gwen?" Abbie had sai__d__, pointing to her sister's shirt. "Did y__ou__ have a wardrobe malfunction or something?"_

_ Gwen looked down at her shirt. "Oh. Whoops," she said, biting her lip and blushing slightly. "So, yeah. Um, actually, __that would be Arthur's fault__. He buttoned it."_

_ Abbie raised an eyebrow at her._

_ "Well, he was the one who _un_-__buttoned it, and... oh, don't give me that look." Gwen put her hands on her hips. "We didn't have sex. Just a little under-the-shirt action, that's all." she said. "And maybe under the bra," she quickly and quietly added just as she turned and made a quick exit before Abbie could pose any follow-up questions._

Abbie's hand strays from Crane's face into his hair, feeling the strands slide between her fingers. One of his hands is trapped beneath her back, and the other is holding her waist, his fingers bunching the material of her t-shirt.

He groans, his fingers at her waist opening and sliding along her ribcage. Abbie sighs into him in response, writhing a little beneath him.

"Am I crushing you?" he asks, his lips barely leaving hers.

"No," she answers, hooking her leg around his.

His tongue caresses hers, his hand caresses her side. Then, his thumb _just_ brushes the side of her breast, and she moans softly.

"Forgive me." He moves his hand immediately.

"No, it's fine... you can," she says, trying not to sound too eager. _One step forward, one and a half back..._

He stills for just a second, saying nothing. Then, his lips travel to her neck, his hand still locked onto her waist.

"Ichabod," Abbie says, "what's wrong?"

He pauses a moment. It's a moment too long. "Nothing is wrong," he answers, lifting his head and kissing her lips. However, his face betrays his words, and she pushes his shoulders. He sits back, and Abbie sits up.

"Abbie, I..."

"It's fine. You're not attracted to me. I get it," she says, cutting him off before he can continue. "We can just be friends, if that's what you—"

"_Abbie,_" he interjects. He moves to take her hands, but changes his mind mid-motion, clasping his hands together in his lap instead. "I'm very attracted to you. Why would you think otherwise?"

Abbie sighs. "Because you hesitated when I asked what was wrong. Because you _say_ you're attracted to me but you stopped yourself from taking my hands just now." He looks down guiltily at them. "Because we've been together for over a month now and... it feels like we're treading water. I mean, I'm not saying I want to jump into bed with you yet, but... shit. How can I say this without sounding cheap? I can't. Never mind." Flustered, she waves her hand dismissively and looks away, humiliated.

"Abbie. I... I _want_ to... move forward with things. I've grown quite fond of you, please believe me, but I don't want to risk... I'm..." he trails off, unsure how to proceed. Abbie gets the feeling there's something he's trying _not_ to tell her.

They sit in silence for a few long moments, each staring into a different space.

"I was fat when I was younger," Abbie quietly says, looking down at her lap. "The other kids called me 'Flabby Abbie' or 'Abigail Whale' until the end of eighth grade." She looks up at Crane. "The summer before I started high school, I decided I had to lose weight and get into shape. I... I couldn't stand the thought of facing high school as a fat girl. It was extremely hard. I almost gave up a couple times, but Gwen really helped. She knew I'd hate myself if I quit. She would exercise with me so I wouldn't have to do it alone. Wouldn't eat cookies or anything unhealthy in front of me. She supported me through the whole, long process." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. Crane can tell she is experiencing great difficulty in talking about this.

"I am sorry to hear that, Abbie. Children can be very cruel sometimes," he says. He smiles weakly. "You can take that as absolute truth from a man with the name 'Ichabod'. They would call me 'Icky' or 'Botty' – that means 'bum'."

Abbie nods understandingly.

"I'm sorry; I interrupted you, didn't I? Please continue," he says, taking her hand now.

"I've stayed thin since then, but... the insecurity is still there. Even though guys started noticing me, even though I had a couple boyfriends in high school and college... it's like once a fat girl, always a fat girl. At least, in my head, you know? I know I need to let that person go, but it's hard. Especially when... never mind," she says, abandoning what she was about to say. _Don't make things worse._ "Then, I made the monumental mistake of dating a coworker. One of the other officers at the station. Luke. He was a couple of years older, a detective. I was a lieutenant, just a regular cop. He was cute, smart, and charming. There was even a time where I could see myself marrying him."

"What happened?" he asks, his thumb stroking her hand.

"He broke up with me with no warning at all. It was a month before Corbin died. He told _me_ he wasn't ready for a commitment. That it wasn't my fault."

"Right," Crane says, frowning. Not buying it, either.

"Found out from his partner that he said I wasn't _feminine_ enough. Apparently, he felt like he was dating a dude." She looks up into Crane's blue eyes. "So, _that's_ why I automatically jumped to the conclusion that you weren't attracted to me. I'm sorry. I've got a lot of shit to deal with, and..."

"Abbie." His soft voice stops her words. Something in his tone tells her he doesn't require her apology and understands completely. He lifts her hand and kisses it. "You are very beautiful and incredibly alluring and exceptionally feminine. Any man who does not see that is a cad and a fool and is not deserving of your company."

"Thank you," Abbie whispers. His words are lovely, but they don't alleviate any of the confusion she's feeling.

Crane kisses her hand once more, then gently releases it and stands. He sighs heavily, switches off the movie, removes the disc and places it back in its box. Then, he walks to the media cabinet and re-shelves it in its assigned slot, between _Avatar_ and _Back to the Future_.

"I was engaged to be married once," he says, still facing the cabinet. "Over two years ago."

"Two years..." Abbie repeats, whispering. She remembers him telling her he hasn't dated in two years. _He hasn't dated anyone since his fianc__é__e._

He turns around and looks at her. His expression is forlorn and the fingers of his left hand twitch restlessly at his side. Then, he sits heavily in the recliner. "She died. By her own hand."

"Oh, my God," she gasps. "Ichabod, I'm so sorry." She reaches her hand over to him and squeezes his where it is resting on his leg. It's an awkward reach, so she doesn't linger.

"I had no idea she was unhappy. Unwell. It was a complete shock to everyone, including her family. We were to be married in six months." His voice is quiet but almost robotic, stripped of any feeling. Like he's shielding himself. "I was devastated."

"I can't begin to imagine," Abbie says, trying to stay calm, but she feels tears pricking the backs of her eyes, and her brain is going _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..._

"She drove her grandfather's car into a building. It was one of those antiquated machines that pre-dated airbags and safety features. Pulled up to this abandoned warehouse and just drove full speed into the brick façade." He looks over at Abbie and his eyes are glassy. Tears are collecting in Abbie's eyes as well, threatening to spill over. "No warning. No note. Nothing."

"I don't know what to say," Abbie says, wiping the first tear away, her heart breaking for him.

"There is nothing that can be said. After she died, I learned a great deal, all of it bad. She had a past that involved drug use. She'd been in juvenile detention once. She would... cut herself."

"She'd cut herself? Didn't you see that?" Abbie asks. "Sorry. That was kind of rude. Police training... it's pretty ingrained."

"It's all right. I think it helps to tell you, actually. I haven't talked about it in a long time. And, to be honest, you are not asking me anything I have not asked myself dozens of times." He takes a deep breath and looks straight ahead. "She hid it from me. I never saw the cuts, never saw the scars. She would do it in places not readily visible. And, when we were... intimate... she insisted on having the lights off and would claim a chill in order stay beneath the blankets."

"Wow," Abbie says. _Woman was a pro._

"She did not allow me to... explore too much," he admits quietly. "I simply thought she was bashful and assumed things would change once we were wed."

"What was her name?" Abbie asks.

"Katrina Van Tassel. I met her during my undergraduate studies." He snorts a small, humorless laugh. "She was actually dating my friend Abraham."

"Oh," Abbie says, a little surprised. She's met Abraham. She didn't much care for him and agreed with Arthur's assessment of him as a "ferret-faced git."

"They weren't serious, but my friendship with Bram did suffer a slight rift over it for a while. He felt I stole her away, when I did nothing of the sort."

"He was into her more than she was into him," Abbie frowns. She's even more confused now. She knew he was keeping something from her but didn't imagine it would be _this._ She didn't think he'd still be pining for his dead fiancée. He'd probably deny it, but that's exactly what this is. _He's not over her yet._

"Apparently." He looks at her again. "I am so sorry, Abbie. I had no idea this would affect my relationship with you. As I said, she's been gone more than two years."

_Two years is a long time. Not that his grief isn't warranted, but... two years? He's behaving as it if all happened two months ago, not two year_s. Abbie sits quietly, pondering all this. _I need to know._ "What did she look like?" she asks.

Crane goes to his desk, picks up his wallet, and withdraws a photo.

He may as well have pulled out a red flag.

_He still keeps her picture in his wallet?_ Abbie watches as he takes a moment to look at the picture, his eyes lingering just a _second_ too long, before he brings it over.

He sits beside her and hands her the picture.

Abbie hesitates a moment, almost losing her nerve. Then, she looks down and sees the photo is of both of them, smiling, Crane's arm around her. The reality of seeing the two of them, together, seemingly happy, pierces Abbie's heart. She concentrates on looking just at Katrina, willing the feelings of jealousy away. Katrina is tall, the top of her head reaching his chin. She's willow-thin and elegant, wearing a flowing, floral sundress that shows off creamy skin so pale it's almost pure white. Her long, auburn hair (_I bet that's not her real color, _Abbie automatically assesses and immediately berates herself for it) is blowing in the breeze. Having an outsider's point of view, one of a trained police officer, Abbie can see the pain in her green eyes, pain that Crane and all of Katrina's family apparently missed.

Even so, Katrina is lovely and graceful and the perfect flower of femininity. Abbie's breath leaves her for a moment, and she almost feels like she's been punched in the stomach.

_She is absolutely everything I am not. How can he pine_ _fo__r__ her and claim he's attracted to me? I am the antithesis of Katrina._

"She was lovely," Abbie manages, handing the photo back.

"Yes, she was. I wish I'd known she was hurting. We could have helped her."

It's exactly the correct thing for him to say and exactly the wrong thing for Abbie to hear him say. _If he could have gotten help for Katrina, he likely wouldn't be here now,_ _with me. They might have been happily married. Of course, he's not exactly here with me now as it is..._

She says nothing, letting the weight of this new information settle over her like a shroud. The grief she feels for Crane is greater than the disappointment she feels for herself, but the layers of sadness are too much. Too overwhelming. And she cannot shake the sickening feeling of, once again, not truly being seen and wanted for who she is.

"I need to go home," Abbie says, standing.

"What? Don't go," Crane says, reaching for her hand, his face pained.

"I... I can't do this. I can't deal with this and still keep my head."

"Abbie, I..." he starts, gripping her hand.

"Please, Ichabod," she says, tears falling afresh now. "I like you. I like you a lot. Like, really a lot. But... I'm not going to compete with a dead woman for your affections. It's not fair. To me... or to you."

"I'm so sorry... I didn't know I... Until we..." he starts and stops several times, clearly conflicted. He releases her hand. She walks away, pulls her boots on, and takes her leather jacket down from the hook by the door.

"Ichabod," she turns, startling when she sees he is _right_ there. She swipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I understand you didn't intend for this to happen. But it did, and I'm so sorry, but I just can't be with you when her ghost is between us. You're a good man, Ichabod, and you deserve to be happy. I hope you can find your way to move on."

"I thought I had," he whispers, his cheeks wet.

"I know," she says softly. She reaches up, wipes his cheek with her thumb, lifts up on tiptoe, and kisses his cheek.

Then, she's gone.

xXx

When Gwen comes home, she peeks in on Abbie, immediately and quickly changes into her pajamas, and gets ready for bed. Then, she goes back into Abbie's room, clears away the crumpled tissues littering the bedspread, hands Abbie a fresh one, and crawls into bed beside her sister.

Abbie leans her head on Gwen's shoulder. "He's still in love with his dead fiancée," she whispers.

Gwen gasps softly. "Shit," she finally responds. "I didn't know he had been engaged."

"Neither did I," Abbie answers. "Arthur didn't tell you?"

"No. Not his news to tell, I guess," Gwen sighs sadly. "So, you left?"

Abbie nods, her breath hitching again. "I told him I wasn't going to compete with a dead girl for his affections." She goes on to give the highlights of Katrina's story, including the fact that Crane still had her picture in his wallet.

"Whoa, that's not cool," Gwen says. "I'm sorry, Ab. Really, I am."

"I am, too," Abbie answers, dabbing her face. "I hope he gets himself together, but... God, this just _sucks._"

"I know," Gwen says. "I know."

"I thought it was me. I thought he didn't like me."

"Of course it wasn't you," Gwen says, poking her sister. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, _you know_," Abbie says, poking Gwen back. "I told him, too. About my having been fat and all that. And about Luke. _Before_ he told me about Katrina."

Gwen sighs. "You need to let that go, Abbie. You're not that person anymore."

"I know. We both have things we need to let go of, I guess," Abbie says.

"Everyone does," Gwen says.

"I still really like him, though," she says, sniffling.

"I know. That's why it hurts so much," Gwen answers.

"I know. Trust me, I know."

Gwen sighs and squeezes her sister's hand. "Try to get some sleep."

"You're not leaving," Abbie says, snuggling against her.

"I wasn't planning to, Ab."


	7. Chapter 7

_Library... I should stop in and say hello to Guinevere._

Arthur's last class was cancelled, so his day was done a little earlier than usual. He turns as he passes the library, heading inside, a little smile of anticipation tugging at his lips.

He knows where she usually is, so he heads to the very back, where the offices are located. She's often hanging about there, sorting the books that need re-shelving.

The library is quiet, so he can only use his eyes, wishing he could listen for her laughter, her voice. He emerges from the end of an aisle and sees her through a window. She's inside an office, talking with someone.

There are blinds on the window, but they are open, so Arthur can see. However, the door is closed. He moves closer, deciding he'll wait outside until she emerges. There are a few tables, so he can sit and amuse himself with a book or his iPad while he waits.

_Who is she talking to?_ He looks at the placard beside the door and sees the name _Dr. Lancelot du Lac._ Arthur recognizes the name. He's the new Chair of the Literature Department, replacing Dr. Nigel Gaius, who retired last term.

_Top notch bloke, Dr. Gaius, I remember him from... hang on..._ Arthur's train of thought is derailed as she sees Guinevere laugh at something this Dr. du Lac person has said. Then, he notices the professor.

_He's young. Quite young. Handsome. Like menswear-advert handsome. And he's smiling indulgently down at _my_ Guinevere. And touching. Her. Shoulder._

_ And she's smiling _back_ at him._

_ They seem rather... cozy._

_ What the fuck is this?_

Arthur's fist clenches involuntarily. He feels slightly ill, like he may lose his lunch. He sees red – no, green – no, _red._

Then, he sees Dr. Menswear walk around and stop right beside Guinevere, and they both lean over the desk, looking at something.

_Surely, he's standing _much_ too close to her._

Gwen points at something on the desk, and the interloper looks closer, then nods up at her, smiling again.

Arthur picks up his satchel and storms from the library, almost mowing down a young lady who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Sorry," he grunts, not breaking stride.

xXx

Arthur looks at his phone, wondering for the fourth time if he could get away with calling Merlin. _It's nearly 6:30 here, which means it's..._ he pauses, counting on his fingers, _almost 3:30 a.m. in Tokyo._

He knows Merlin would answer and talk to him despite the hour. But, he also knows Guinevere is due to arrive with dinner any minute now.

Arthur thought about calling Crane, but after what happened with Abbie (Arthur's not entirely clear on all the details yet; all he knows is she left), he's got his own problems about which to worry, so he leaves Crane alone.

He tosses his phone on the table, replaying in his head the scene from the library.

_Maybe it was innocent. Maybe I'm overreacting._

_ But, I know flirting when I see it._

There's a knock at his door and he goes to let Guinevere in.

"Hi," she says cheerfully, leaning up to kiss him. He kisses her perfunctorily, not lingering and not pulling her into his arms.

"Hey," he says, closing the door behind her.

"I brought curry," she says. Her new favorite.

"Okay," Arthur answers, heading to the kitchen. "Something to drink?"

"Water is fine," she says. She sets the bag on the table and cocks her head at him, taking off her sweater and setting it on a chair with her purse. "Arthur, are you all right?" she asks, taking the two plates he's offering her.

"Fine," he answers, a little too quickly. "Just a bit tired." He twists the cap of her water bottle and hands it to her before he sits with a bottle of ale for himself.

"Thank you," she says, peeking at him while he digs into the bag. _He doesn't seem 'just a bit tired.' And he doesn't seem 'fine', either._

"Thank you for bringing dinner, Guinevere," he says. "How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," she says. "Not a big deal." She spoons some food onto her plate. "How was your day? Did Dr. Alined actually _do_ anything today, or did you teach the entire class again?" she asks, smiling.

"I taught the whole thing again. He was out of the room for most of the hour," he answers, picking at his food. "How was your day? Anything... interesting happen?"

Gwen furrows her brow. _Kind of an odd question._ "Sort of," she shrugs. "Had to work at the library this afternoon. Found a fascinating Shakespeare text. Way old."

"Oh? Is that what you and Dr. Handsome were snuggling over in his office?"

Gwen's fork stops halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowers it to her plate. "Excuse me?" she asks, her voice like ice.

"My last class was cancelled today. I stopped in at the library," he answers, setting his fork down as well. "I _saw_ you. With _him._"

"With _whom?_ My _boss?_" she asks. "Dr. du Lac?"

"Ah! So, you don't deny you think he's handsome, then!" Arthur declares.

"_What?_" she asks, floored. "Arthur, he's my freaking _boss._ His attractiveness isn't even a factor!"

"Oh, so you _do_ find him attractive!" he says, now raising his voice.

"Arthur, stop twisting my damn words!" she shoots back. "Dr. du Lac is my boss, nothing more. Was I in his office? Yes. We were _working._ Because I have a _job_ at the library."

"Didn't look much like work to me, what with you laughing and smiling and him... _feelin_g on you," he spits, lifting his bottle and taking a long drink.

"_Feeling?_ He was most definitely _not..._" she stops, realizing there is nothing she can say that will make him see reason. _He's spent all afternoon brooding over this._ "You know what? I don't need to explain myself to you. If you can't trust me enough to believe me when I tell you—"

"I know what I saw, Guinevere," he says, his voice low. Somehow, it was better when he was yelling.

Gwen stands. "You have _no __idea_ what you saw, Arthur. You only know what you _thought_ you saw. Look, I'm sorry you were hurt in the past. I'm sorry Mithian shit all over your heart. But, I'm _not_ Mithian, and I'll thank you not to treat me like I am."

He looks up at her. The anger in his eyes doesn't mask the hurt hiding behind it. He almost looks haunted, plagued by memories of a broken heart. "You were laughing with him. He was smiling at you. Touching your shoulder. Leaning in close. He was fucking _flirting_ with you and you were just going right along with it."

Gwen's jaw clenches. A tear spills out of the corner of her eye and rolls down her cheek. "I'm going to say this one last time and then, I'm leaving," she says, her voice wavering. "He. Is. My. Boss. There is nothing between us. _Absolutely_ nothing. If you don't believe me, that's your problem. I'm done." She turns, picks up her sweater and purse, and heads for the door.

"Guinev—"

xXx

Gwen opens the door to her flat and hears Abbie on the phone. She listens long enough to determine Abbie is _not_ talking to Ichabod and waves as she heads to her room. Abbie waves back, a look of surprised concern on her face at seeing her sister home so early. With bleary, red eyes.

"Yeah, I'm here, sorry, Mom," Abbie says. "Gwen just came home and distracted me for a second. Thanks for letting us know. I'll tell her. Yeah. Love you, too, and love to Dad and Jenny from both of us." She looks up to see Gwen emerging from her room in fuzzy pajama pants and a sweatshirt, braiding her hair. She plops on the couch and leans her head on Abbie's shoulder. "_Yes,_ Mom, we're fine. Okay. 'Bye."

Abbie looks at Gwen. "What happened?"

"He's a jerk."

She puts her arm around Gwen's shoulders. "Care to expand on that?"

Gwen shakily sighs. Abbie reaches to the end table and hands her sister a tissue. "He... I knew he'd been hurt in the past, but..."

"Gwennie, what _happened?_ Did he get rough with you? If he so much as laid a hand on you, so help me, I will _find_ a gun somewhere in this godforsaken country and..." Abbie demands, sitting up.

"No, no, he didn't touch me," Gwen says. "Put your badge away, Lieutenant." She sighs, wipes her nose, and tells Abbie what happened.

"What the _hell?_" Abbie asks, angry for her sister. "How _dare_ he? Boy has got some serious jealousy issues. Holy crap."

"Abbie, dial it back. I don't need you to be angry for me. Really. I appreciate your support, but... I'll be okay," she says. Her voice breaks on the last two words, and she starts crying again. "Damn it," she mutters, dropping her face into her hands.

Abbie wraps her arms around Gwen, hugging her. "He's so stupid," Gwen says into Abbie's shoulder. "Why does he have to be so stupid?"

"Because he's a guy," Abbie sighs. "Guys get stupid sometimes. Unfortunately, so do we. Hopefully, he'll recognize his stupidity sooner rather than later."

Gwen nods, saying nothing. "I guess that's what I get for thinking he was perfect," she finally says.

"Gwen, this is not your fault," Abbie says, frowning. "_He's_ the one with the issue here, not you."

"Sounds familiar," Gwen says, smiling just a little. Just the other day, she said the same thing about Crane to Abbie.

"We got ourselves a pair, didn't we?" Abbie says, sighing. In the very back of her mind, she wonders what Ichabod is doing and if he's okay. _Not the time to be worrying about him._

Gwen nods, her breath hitching again. "I hate... it when... this... happens..." she says, crying again. "I... can't... stop."

"I know." Abbie hugs her sister again. "You really like him. Trust me, I know."

"I know you know," Gwen answers.

"I know you know I know," Abbie shoots back, smiling a little as she hears Gwen snort an involuntary laugh. "Don't snot on my shirt, Girl."

"I'm not... I don't think," Gwen says, leaning away from her sister. She reaches up and wipes Abbie's shoulder. "I think that's just tears." She blows her nose.

They sit back against the couch, shoulder to shoulder. "We have ice cream," Abbie says.

"We do," Gwen agrees.

Abbie stands and returns with the pint from the freezer and two spoons.

"Thank you, Abbie," Gwen says, digging her spoon in. "I'll be okay. Eventually. I just can't believe..."

"I know, I can't, either. I couldn't believe Ichabod, either. Kind of apples and oranges, though."

"Yeah, you're not pissed at Ichabod," Gwen says.

"Not really. Mostly sad." She swallows a spoonful of ice cream. "You know 'pissed' means 'drunk' over here, not 'angry'?"

"Yeah. I don't get that, though. 'Pissed' is such an accurately descriptive term for how I'm feeling. 'Angry' sounds too polite. 'Mad' doesn't even work." Abbie laughs suddenly. "What?" Gwen asks, confused.

"You don't remember? One time, when I was, like, 13 or 14, I said something 'pissed me off' and Mom said, 'Young ladies do _not_ get 'pissed off,' and we were like, 'Um, yeah, we do," she says.

"Oh, God, I forgot about that!" Gwen says, laughing. Abbie smiles, happy to hear her sister's laughter. "Hey, what did Mom want? You were talking to her when I got home."

"Crap. Jenny," Abbie says, setting her spoon down. "Like you don't have enough on your mind. Her PFT numbers are down and she's lost weight, so they're watching her. Nothing serious yet, but the Jenny Advisory System is officially on 'yellow'."

"Shoot," Gwen says. "I hope she doesn't have to go in again. She hates the hospital. You done?" Abbie nods, and Gwen takes the ice cream and spoons back to the kitchen. "I'm going to my room. You coming?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to get any more studying done tonight now, anyway," Abbie says, following her sister into her room. _Gwen stayed with me when I needed her; now,_ _it's my turn._


	8. Chapter 8

_Ignore Mom. I'm okay._

Jenny's text comes ten seconds before their mother calls Gwen's phone. Abbie is due home from class any moment now, and Gwen takes a moment to marvel over how their mom seems to know their schedules and is able to keep them straight despite the five hour time difference.

"What's going on?" Gwen answers.

"Hello, Guinevere," her mother says pointedly.

"Sorry, hi. What's going on?"

"How do you know...? Jenny. She's too fast with the texting," she sighs. "We're at the hospital."

"Again? What happened?" Gwen asks. A whole day has passed since Abbie talked to their mom.

"When she had her check-up, they did a culture of her mucus. It tested positive for a bug - a name too long for me to remember right now. Anyway, Dr. Baker told us to take her to the hospital to be admitted. Trying a new and stronger antibiotic this time, so they need to watch her." Her mother's voice is calm, the words almost automatic since she's said them several times in the past. Even so , Gwen knows that every time Jenny goes in , their mother worries herself into an ulcer. She puts on a brave face, but Gwen has heard her crying at night.

"Guinevere," Lori Mills softly says, " Jenny is scheduled for a clean-out."

"Oh, Mom," Gwen groans, knowing how vigorous and uncomfortable this procedure is for her sister_. Poor Jenny__. _"I'm coming home," she says. "I'll get the next flight I can."

"You don't have to come home, Gwennie ," her mom says, but Gwen can hear the gratitude in her voice.

"I know I don't _have_ to. But, I will. I'll email my professors and let them know. I don't have any big tests coming up and work won't be a problem. Shoot. Abbie has a _huge_ test in a couple days."

"Then, do not let her come with you."

"I won't," Gwen answers. "I'll let you know when I have my flight info."

"Good. I'll send Dad to pick you up."

"Okay. See you soon, Mom."

Her mother sighs. "Okay, honey." Gwen can picture her anxiously biting her fingernails. "I love you, Guinevere."

"Love you, too, Mom." Gwen sets her phone down and opens her laptop.

xXx

"What did you do?" Merlin's voice is welcome, but his words sting.

"Why do you assume I did something?" Arthur asks.

"Oh, because of your pathetic little text. 'I screwed up. Call me when you can.' What. Did you _do,_ Cabbage Head?"

Arthur takes a deep breath, stalling. "Remember Guinevere? The girl I told you about?"

"Oh, no, Arthur..."

Arthur's silence validates Merlin's suspicions.

"She was, like, the best thing that ever happened to you! I mean, I haven't met her yet, but from what you and Ichabod have told me about Gwen and Abbie—"

"Oh, so you haven't heard. Crane is on the outs with Abbie, too," Arthur interrupts.

"Katrina?" Merlin guesses.

"Katrina," Arthur confirms. _His intuition is really quite scary sometimes._

Merlin sighs. "Well, whatever you did, fix it, Clotpole." He pauses, and Arthur hears someone speaking Japanese in the background. Then, he hears Merlin respond, also in Japanese. "Sorry. Flatmate. The flats here are amazingly small, but really clever. I have this—"

"_Merlin_. Focus, please," Arthur sighs. _He's brilliant, but a little flaky._

"Sorry. So. Tell me. And don't twist it to make yourself look less stupid."

"Ouch," Arthur says. "Okay."

When Arthur finishes, Merlin is uncharacteristically quiet. "Fix it," he finally says.

"I'm not sure I can," Arthur groans. "She was really mad."

"I'm sure she was. _I'm_ a bit mad at you myself," he replies. "I mean, how bloody _stupid_ are you? You..." He stops. "You know what? You already know everything I'm going to say and this call is expensive. Get her back."

"I'm going to try. I hate being without her. I _really_ hate it. And I hate myself for how I treated her. The hard part is going to be just getting her to talk to me, I think."

"Likely," Merlin agrees. "Okay, it's late here and I'm knackered. Keep me updated."

"I will. Thanks, mate."

"Anytime. And good luck," he says. Then, after a beat, he adds, "Tosser."

"Pillock. Good night."

Arthur disconnects from Merlin and stares at his phone. He wants to call Guinevere, but has a feeling she won't answer if he does.

He sends a text.

Then, he waits.

xXx

Gwen's phone chimes and she almost drops it trying to block the sound. Jenny is finally sleeping and Gwen does _not_ want to wake her.

"Damn it, Abbie," she whispers, cursing her older sister's timing as she sets her phone to Vibrate. Then, her nerves on edge, she checks the text.

It's from Arthur. Her heart drops, then thumps. She doesn't want to admit how much she misses him, though it's only been a few days. Her anger has dissolved a bit and turned into hurt.

_Can we meet somewhere to talk, please? I behaved appallingly and am very sorry._

Gwen reads it twice, realizing for the first time Arthur wouldn't have known she is home. She bites her lip, torn between being grateful she can't meet with him right now and wishing she could.

_Sorry, I'm actually home in Sleepy Hollow. Jenny's not well._

She sets her phone down. A minute later, her phone buzzes with Arthur's reply.

_Oh. When will you be back?_

She sighs and replies.

_G: That real__ly depends on Jenny__._

_ A: OMG, sorry, __how is she__?_

_ G: Too early to tell. She's sleeping now, which is goo__d._

_ A: May I ask what happened?  
_Gwen idly wonders if Arthur's asking about Jenny to keep the line of communication open, but it could be herresidual hurt and anger asking that question. _Maybe he is_ _genuinely concerned._

_ G: Too complicated to explain over text. You can call Abbie for details.__ She's still in Oxford._

_ A: Right._

Gwen's not sure if she should reply now, and if so, what. She glances over at her sleeping sister, frowning. Jenny is noticeably thinner than she was when Abbie and Gwen left for England, and there are dark circles around her eyes. She glances at the clock. Her parents are due back soon, then Gwen will go find some lunch while they sit with Jenny.

_A: I hope she gets better soon._

Gwen smiles a little.

_G: Thank you._

Her phone is quiet for five minutes, so they must be done. _Just as well. I don'__t__ know what to say to him anyway._ She stares at the television, the volume so low it's barely audible.

She sniffles and it's only then she realizes she's crying. "Shoot," she whispers, grabbing a tissue. "Damn it."

xXx

Jenny kicked everyone out at 5:30, saying she'd had enough company. "Get out. Go out to dinner or something," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

So, reluctantly, Guinevere and her parents head out. Her father recommends pizza, but all that does is remind Gwen of her first date with Arthur, so she tells him no and suggests a diner instead.

It's a noisy place with shiny red and chrome booths and 1950s rock 'n' roll memorabilia on the walls. Just what Gwen needs: distraction.

She orders breakfast for dinner, deciding a pecan waffle with crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash browns is just what she needs.

Over dinner, her mom comments that Gwen doesn't seem herself, and Gwen suddenly begins telling her parents a bit about what's gone on with herself and Arthur as well as with Abbie and Ichabod. Not in great detail or anything (they don't need to know that Abbie noticed something wrong while she was making out with Ichabod, or that she and Arthur had already gotten to second base), but enough for them to know that neither of their older daughters are especially happy right now.

"We're supposed to be _studying_ over there anyway," Gwen eventually sighs, pushing a bit of egg around with her fork.

"True, but I'm still sorry things didn't work out. They seemed like such nice boys," her mother says, frowning.

"They are, that's the problem. Ichabod didn't even realize he was still, um, stagnating. Or whatever he's doing. Or not doing. And Arthur's been hurt pretty badly , emotionally ."

"And that makes it okay for him to hurt _you_?" her father asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course not, Dad," Gwen says, setting her fork down. "I'm not excusing his behavior, I'm just explaining it. I understand him, even though I'm still pretty upset about it."

"He hasn't called?" her mother asks.

"He texted me late this morning. Wants to talk. I told him I was here," Gwen answers.

Thankfully, the waitress arrives just then to check on them. Gwen tells her she's finished, despite the fact her meal is only half eaten.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen glances at her phone. Due to the noise in the restaurant, she had missed a call. From Arthur. _I'll check it later,_ she decides. _When I'm in my bedroom. Alone._

Guinevere bids her parents goodnight, retiring to her childhood bedroom to check her email and do some of the reading she'd brought along.

But first, she listens to Arthur's voicemail.

"Hi, Guinevere, I... I know you're probably not answering because it's me... or I suppose you could be someplace where you _can't_ take the call, but... well, I just wanted to call and tell you with real words – I mean, words spoken by me instead of texted – that I'm really, truly sorry for how I acted. I have no excuse. I don't know what came over me. I just... Look, I _know_ you're not bloody Mithian... it's just... bugger... I sometimes lose my head about things. Things dealing with people I... care about..." he pauses, and Gwen thinks she hears him sniffle. When he speaks again, his voice sounds slightly thicker. "I can't take back what I said. I wish I could... I wish that every minute of every day since I said it ... but... I _also _wish that you will forgive me and... consider taking me back? I hope that's not too... wishy... of me." Gwen can't help but smile at this, pressing her hand over her mouth, tears wetting her fingers as they fall. "Um... I know I'm prattling on, and I don't know if you're still even listening anymore, but... I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry, Guinevere. I'm so sorry and... I promise I'll never... no, I can't do that... I promise I'll remember this and... I promise I'll _try._ 'Cause, like, that's all I _can_ promise... I can't promise I won't ever be stupid again... I think we both know that's going to happen... but I _know_ now. I _kno_w I was a complete fool... and I care about you... a lot... more than I realized at first... and I'm sorry again. I'm sorry to add to your stress right now, what with Jenny being in hospital and all, but... I miss you. I _reall_y miss you. Um... I hope you will call me when you can. If you've listened this far. Please. I'm sorry. I miss you."

Gwen listens to Arthur's long, rambling mess of a voicemail three times. She goes through five tissues in the process. She glances at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 7:41. _That means it's 12:41 a.m. in the UK. _She stares at her phone a moment.

Then, she calls Abbie.

xXx

"Hello?" Abbie answers groggily, her phone jolting her awake.

"Hi, sorry to wake you," Gwen says.

"What's wrong? Is Jenny okay?" Abbie asks. Being a police officer, she knows most phone calls after midnight bear bad news.

"She's fine, sorry. I didn't even think. Shoot. Didn't mean to scare you."

"What's going on?" Abbie asks.

Gwen sighs. "Have you... have you seen Arthur at all? Like, have you run into him or anything?"

"No, why?"

"He left me the most pathetically sweet voicemail. I'm not sure if he was drunk or not, but he rambled on for almost two minutes," Gwen explains. "He apologized again and again, and promised to do better. I think he came just this side of telling me he loves me."

"Oh?" Abbie asks, ever cautious.

"I don't know what to do, Abbie!" she groans, flopping back on her bed. "I _was_ still kind of mad at him, but now..."

"He's being ridiculously sweet and you're breaking," Abbie says. "I get that."

"What do I do?" Gwen asks.

"Well, logically, there's not much you _can_ do right now, since you're there and he's here."

"Thank you, that's very helpful," Gwen answers flatly.

"I know. Sorry. Did he ask anything? What does he want?"

"I need to back up a little. He texted this morning asking if we could meet to talk. I told him I was here. We exchanged a few texts, and I told him he could ask you if he wanted details about Jenny, because it was too hard to explain in a text."

"Yeah, Arthur's going to call me. I can_ totall_y see that happening," Abbie says sarcastically.

"I realized the flaw in that statement later," Gwen admits. "So. He wants to talk to me. He apologized, like, 50 times. He asked if I'd consider forgiving him and taking him back."

Abbie is quiet for a minute. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, Gwen," she finally says. "But, you need to ask yourself some questions. Do you believe him? Do you think he'll be able to allow himself to trust you? And do _you_ want to get back together with _him_? Is he worth risking your heart again?"

Gwen sighs heavily, curling on her side and reaching for her old, battered teddy bear. She looks across at Abbie's childhood bed, picturing her sister there, listening to music or reading a book. She is reminded of when they were kids and life was actually simpler even though they were too young and foolish to realize it.

"Yes, he is," she answers. "I _reall_y miss him, Abbie. I... might be falling in love with the idiot. I guess that makes me an idiot, too."

Abbie presses her lips together, closing her eyes as a wave of sadness passes over her. _I really miss Ichabod, __too__. _"Or, at the very least, an idiot-lover. Which may be worse, I don't know," she says, maintaining her composure.

Gwen laughs a little. "Thanks, Ab. Sorry I woke you."

"Not a problem."

"Go back to sleep."

Gwen disconnects the call and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes, she sighs, reaches for her laptop, and attempts to be productive. She's pretty tired. It's early still, but her body is five hours ahead, not caring one bit about what the clock says.

She checks her email, reading her professors' responses to her family emergency. They are mostly sympathetic, and a couple of them have given her some things on which to work if she has "a few moments to do so", which Gwen appreciates. She doesn't want to fall behind.

She attempts to read, but her eyes are heavy, so she gives up, changes into her pajamas, and goes to bed.

As soon as her head hits the pillow, her brain starts up again, thinking about Arthur.

_I miss him. A lot. But, _can _I forgive him? Can I trust he won't just do the same thing again the next time he sees a man talk to me or touch my shoulder? __He says he's sorry. He says he'll try. But, am I just choosing to believe him because I _ want _to believe hi__m__, or is he actually sincere? It's so difficult to tell without seeing h__i_m.

Gwen flips onto her other side, curling into a ball.

_On the other hand, I'll never know unless I give him a chance. One chance, though. That's all my heart can take._

In the dark of her childhood bedroom, she allows herself to remember things. His crooked smile. His laugh. How he says her name. The feel of his lips against hers, against her skin. His hands on her back, her face, her breasts. The silken strands of his hair between her fingers. How he always looks at her like she is the most beautiful and precious woman he has ever known… except for that last night. _No. Don't think abou__t that. Focus on his voice telling you he misses you_. She hasn't deleted the message. She won't.

Eventually, her brain quiets, and she falls into a fitful sleep.

xXx

Gwen opens her eyes. 4:12 a.m. The days are getting shorter, so it's not very light yet. _I'm exhausted, but I know I won't fall back to sleep._ She picks up her phone and unplugs it, checking for any missed calls or texts, not wanting to admit she's checking for missed calls or texts from Arthur.

Just a text from Abbie, asking how she is. She replies, and then stares at the phone.

_Hi, sorry to bother you, but if you have a minute, I have a question for yo_u _._ She looks at the text, hesitates a second, _almost _deletes it, then hits Send.

She's surprised when he replies a moment later.

_Yes, what can I do for you, Miss Gwen?_

She automatically smiles.

_G: Do you happen to know what Arthur was doing last night?_

_ I: I've been a bit busy, but we briefly spoke earlier. As far as I know, he was at home, __wallowing in his own foolishne__ss__._

Gwen feels no joy in hearing about Arthur's despair. She frowns and gnaws her lower lip, trying to decide if she should ask what she wants to know. In the end, curiosity wins out and she decides to go for it.

_ G: I hate to ask this, but do you know if he was drinking?_

_ I: Arthur does not consume alcohol when he is upset. He prefers to __bury__ his sorrows in cake. May I ask why you are inquiring?_

Gwen can't help but snort a laugh at "prefers to bury his sorrows in cake".

_G: He left me a rambling voicemail last night. I thought he might have been a little drunk. I didn't think so, but had to ask._

_ I: I see. I am fairly certain he was completely sober. If anything, he was very likely over-tired._

_ G: Thank you._

_ I: You are most welcome. Arthur told me about Miss Jenny. Please send her my warmest wishes for_ _improved health, if you would be so kind._

_ G: I will. Thank you._

Gwen sets her phone down. Then, she picks it up again.

_G: How are you doing?_

Crane doesn't reply right away. She's beginning to wonder if she had overstepped by asking, but then her phone buzzes.

_I: Taking steps to make myself better. Thank you for asking._

_ G: You're welcome. And I'm glad_.

Gwen considers telling Crane that Abbie misses him, but she knows that _would _be overstepping.

_ I: And how are you faring, if I may ask?_

_G: Overwhel__med_.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur doesn't know how long Abbie has been sitting at his table in the café before he noticed her. But, when he finally looks up from his iPad and sees her regarding him across the table, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaims.

"You look like shit, Arthur," she says.

He raises an eyebrow, giving Abbie a once-over, noting her tired eyes and slightly-sloppier-than-usual appearance. Usually, she looks very together. Tidy. Right now, she looks fine, just slightly... askew. Not herself. "Right back at you," Arthur replies. Abbie snorts and takes a drink of her coffee. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?" he asks, figuring Guinevere has told her everything. _I certainly hope she knows the latest news._

She leans back in her chair and sighs. "I don't have the energy. Or a firearm."

"Small favors, then," Arthur says. "How are you doing?"

She shrugs. "I miss him," she says plainly. "I'm not sitting around waiting for him or anything, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him. I'm doing my schoolwork. Keeping abreast of what's going on with my baby sister. Eating. Sleeping." Arthur nods understandingly. "I wouldn't exactly call it 'living', but I ain't dying." She pauses. "Oh. Unfortunate word choice, there," she says.

"Huh? Oh, the Katrina thing, right," Arthur says. "I won't tell."

"Have... have you spoken to him?" she hesitantly asks.

"I've been trying to call Crane for three days, actually. Haven't talked to him for longer than five minutes," he answers, frowning.

"Oh," Abbie says, a shadow crossing her face as she looks down.

"Sorry," Arthur apologizes. "For that, and... for what I did to Guinevere. I'm a jerk."

Abbie looks back up at him. "She said the same thing when she came home that night."

For some reason, this makes Arthur chuckle. "She's right. She didn't deserve the treatment I gave her."

"No, she didn't," Abbie agrees. "So, what are you doing about it? I mean, besides leaving a rambling voicemail message for her."

Arthur smiles and looks away, a bit embarrassed. "Well, not much I _can_ do, since there's a bloody ocean between us right now. I haven't heard from her since yesterday, and that was only texting."

Abbie narrows her eyes at him. "You don't sound like you're trying very hard."

"Well, what do you want me to do, Abbie?" he ask, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Hop on the next plane... to... New York..." he trails off when he sees her eyebrows rise. She's regarding him rather expectantly.

"It's not the _worst_ idea in the world," Abbie says, finally breaking a chunk off of her scone and eating it. "Someone with more money than the queen should be able to manage that quite easily, I would think."

Arthur blinks, surprised. "Guinevere told you, huh?"

"Ichabod did," she says. "But, I'm glad Gwen knows."

"Of course she knows," he answers. Then, remembering, he drops his head into his hands. "Shit. I am _such_ an idiot." He looks forlornly at Abbie. "When I told her, she told me she already liked me before she found out I was rich, and... said something about how her opinion hasn't changed because of that."

"That does sound like Gwen," Abbie says.

"And I told her I knew she wasn't like Mithian, so that's why I felt comfortable sharing my dirty little secret with her," Arthur adds, dropping his forehead onto the table with a _thunk._

"Holy shit, Arthur, you _are_ an idiot," Abbie says, shaking her head. There is no anger in her voice; she actually sounds sympathetic. She sighs, then reaches over and tugs his hair. "Arthur, sit up. People are staring."

He sits up, looking at her like a lost little boy. "If I go..."

"Look. Just because she hasn't responded to your voicemail doesn't mean she doesn't want to talk to you. Or see you. Remember, she's got a lot on her plate right now. Actually, we all do."

His lost expression gains a glimmer of hope.

"That's all I'm going to say. I'm taking pity on you, Pendragon, but don't push me," she warns. "You're not back in my good books yet, so don't get comfortable. I'm doing this for my sister, not you."

Arthur gets a little more hopeful. _She just gave away more than she intended with that statement. Guinevere misses me!_ "Of course. I... I'll go. As soon as possible."

Abbie nods and takes a small bite of her scone. "Make sure she knows she is worth the trip," she advises.

"Noted," he nods. "Hey, how is Jenny, anyway? Guinevere wasn't able to give a lot of details," he asks. _I can spare a few more minutes before callin_g _my father's travel agent._ "What's going on? Is she going to be okay?"

Abbie is touched by his concern. "I'll try to explain quickly since I know you're itching to get your flight booked," she says.

"Is it that obvious?" he asks, smiling.

xXx

"Great, thanks Geoffrey. I'll be in touch when I need a return ticket. Hopefully, I'll be needing two," he hauls his suitcase onto his bed, flipping it open. "An hour? Brilliant. Thanks again."

Arthur disconnects the call and is halfway to his closet when there's a knock at the door.

"The invisible man makes an appearance," he mutters under his breath as he goes to answer it. "Now, of all times..." He pulls the door open. "Hey," he greets Crane and heads back to his room.

"Arthur, what on earth?" he says, closing the door and following him back to his room.

"Busy," he says. "Been trying to get a hold of you, you know."

"I know, sorry. I've been a terrible friend," Crane says, frowning. He lifts his hand, passing a thick volume to Arthur. "I found this book of yours while I was doing some cleaning and sorting at home, so I thought I'd bring it over instead of just calling."

"Thanks. Forgot I had that one," Arthur chuckles, taking the book. "And it's okay. I know you're dealing with your own problems right now," he adds, wondering if his "cleaning and sorting" is part of that. He turns and looks at Crane sadly. "I just hope I haven't messed up the best thing that ever happened to me."

Crane sits heavily on a chair in the corner of Arthur's room. "I can certainly empathize," he sighs.

"Yeah, about that," Arthur says, a stack of underwear in his hand. "You need to get your shit together."

"I know. I've been... working on that. That's why I haven't been around."

Arthur drops the pile of boxers in the suitcase. "I saw Abbie today. Ran into her at the café."

Crane looks up, eyes wide. "You spoke with her? That is, she was _willing_ to speak to you?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, too," Arthur answers. "She came and sat with me."

"How... how is she?"

"Not good, mate. I'm not going to lie. She's _okay,_ but... not herself." Arthur sits on the edge of his bed, tossing socks into the suitcase. "You know how Guinevere and Abbie both have this... this _light_ inside them? The _thing_ that makes them both so bloody wonderful?"

Crane smiles wistfully, his heart aching slightly, and nods.

"Well, if Abbie's light wasn't out, it was pretty dim, mate." Arthur stands and heads into his closet.

"I want nothing more than to be with her," Crane admits, looking at his shoes. "I know that now. And I truly am working on moving forward. I'm going to lose her if I don't. If I haven't already..."

Arthur drops an armful of shirts into his suitcase. "Mate, you're going to lose _yourself_ if you don't. This isn't about Abbie. It's about _you._ I've wanted to tell you this for a while, actually. You haven't _allowed_ yourself to move on."

"I realize that now. It's just so bloody difficult. You know the way my brain works. The memories are all so clear."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Are they? Are you _choosing_ to forget, then, that Katrina never let you see her _true_ self? That she hid things, _big_ things from you?" Crane says nothing, struck. "Mate, you never really knew Katrina. You love the _idea_ of her, not the actual person. Her memory. What you thought _could_ have been, not what actually _was_."

Crane sits silently, processing Arthur's words. He can neither deny nor argue with them. "You've wanted to tell me this for a while?" he finally, quietly asks. "What stopped you?"

"I was hoping you'd figure it out for yourself. But, apparently, it's easier to solve other people's problems than one's own," he says, chuckling mirthlessly.

"Indeed," Crane agrees.

Arthur moves to stand in front of his friend. "Crane, I can't begin to comprehend the kind of pain you went through. And I didn't know Katrina very well, but I am sure of one thing: she would want you to move on with your life. She would want you to be happy."

Crane looks up at Arthur. "You are right. I know you are. And... I'm beginning to feel that way. Honestly, I am."

"Good," Arthur says, heading back into his closet. "You and Abbie are really good together."

"So are you and Miss Gwen," Crane says. "Speaking of, I understand you left her a groveling voicemail?"

"Yeah..." Arthur admits. Then, he pokes his head out. "Wait, how do you know about that? You heard from Guinevere?" he asks.

"She texted me, wondering if you had been inebriated at the time," Crane answers. "I informed her you most likely were not."

"Good. I wasn't," Arthur says, disappearing into his closet again. "I may or may not have eaten most of a German chocolate cake, however," his muffled voice admits.

"I did make mention of that," Crane says, smiling a bit. "And may I ask what _else_ you are doing to fix your problem? You certainly seem to have a very good grasp on _my_ life, how about yours?" he asks archly.

Arthur stops in his tracks, a small travel bag with his personal toiletries in his hands. "Crane, if you would open your bloody eyes for a moment, you will notice I've been_ packi_ng this entire time."

Crane looks over at Arthur's bed and finally notices the suitcase. "So you have been. You're going to her?"

"Of course, I am going to her. I am going to bow at my lady's dainty feet and humbly ask for her forgiveness," he declares, putting the toiletry bag in the suitcase and closing it. He hoists it down from the bed and carries it to the living room, Crane following.

"And if that doesn't work?" he asks.

Arthur opens a desk drawer, shuffles around a bit, and withdraws his passport. "I'm going to grovel and beg like the unworthy worm I am."

"Best of luck to you, then, my friend, from one worm to another," Crane says. He pulls Arthur in for a quick hug. "Safe travels."

"Thanks, mate."

"Do you need a lift to the airport, or...?"

"No, Geoffrey's sending a car," Arthur admits sheepishly.

Crane tuts in mock disapproval. "Using Daddy's influence to your own advantage, Arthur. How very _posh_ of you."

"You know I wouldn't do it unless it was something important. Surely, I do not need to clarify just how important this is to me."

"I think this is _precisely_ the situation in which to use such a privilege," Crane says. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a matter to which I need to attend."

"All right. Not sure when I'll be back. I've emailed all the proper authorities. I think Alined's going to be pretty unhappy, but it's not going to kill him to teach his own bloody class for a few bloody days."

"Best of luck to you, Arthur," Crane says, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You, too, mate."


	10. Chapter 10

Abbie drops her bag on the chair and slumps onto her couch, grateful to be home and done with her exam. She's also grateful to be done with this week. _What kind of a sadist schedules a test on a Friday afternoon?_ she wonders, pulling her boots off and tossing them aside. She leans back and wiggles her toes, making the joints crack. Her head has just dropped back against the couch when a tentative, courteous knock sounds at her door.

_There's only one person who's knock sounds like it is politely saying, "Excuse me, terribly sorry for the intrusion."_

Her heart races, sinks into her belly, and lurches up to her throat. "One second," she calls. She stands, takes a step, stops, bites her lip, takes a deep breath, smoothes her hair, takes two more steps, calls herself "stupid", takes another deep breath, and approaches the door. She closes her eyes, her hand suspended halfway to the doorknob.

_Open the damn door._

She wills her fingers around the knob and turns it, slowly pulling the door open.

"Hi," she says, her voice irritatingly breathy.

"Hello," he answers. He looks terrible, like he hasn't slept much.

"Sorry, please, come in." She steps back and allows him inside.

"Your door was not locked," he comments, but there is no reproach in his voice.

"I just got home," she answers, closing the door behind him. "Um, would you like some tea?"

"Do not go to any trouble, please," he answers, standing stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back.

"It's no trouble," she says. "Please, um, have a seat." Then, she disappears into the kitchen as he removes his jacket.

_Why is he here? I know what I stupidly hope he's doing here, but... no. Yes. Yes, you know what you hope. You know where your heart lies._

"I've missed you quite a lot, Abbie," Crane's voice behind her startles her, and she's jumps, dropping the tea ball in the sink. "Sorry," he adds, smiling apologetically when she turns toward him.

"It's okay," she says. She lifts the tea ball from the sink and rests it in her hand. "I missed you quite a lot, too, Ichabod."

"I would like to apologize again for my behavior. I feel truly awful about it, and I know my own ignorance of my... situation... is no excuse," he says, stepping closer.

Abbie is frozen in place, looking up at him, "I think it is," she whispers. "You didn't know. I... had to let you figure things..."

"I know," he says, reaching down and softly closing his hand around hers, the one still holding the metal tea ball.

"Tea..." she mumbles, slightly moving her hand inside of his. _His hand is so warm. Familiar. Comforting._

"The tea can wait," he says, opening her hand and removing the item, setting it on the counter. "Please, may we sit? I have so much to tell you, and I hardly know where to begin..."

"Okay," she says, leading him back to the living room, anxiously awaiting whatever it is he's come to tell her. He sits beside her on the couch.

Crane takes a deep breath, fondly gazes down at her, and for a moment, allows himself to become lost in her beautiful brown eyes. "My God, how I have missed you," he starts.

_That's a good start._ Abbie can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.

"I... I have done a lot of soul searching in the days since we parted, Abbie. I realized many things about myself. I was not over Katrina's death. You were absolutely correct. The simple fact that I'd never been on a single date since she passed should have told me this," he sighs. "I also realized that I was not still in love with her, despite what you may think. I was in love with the _idea_ of her. With what she represented. I had unknowingly put her on a pedestal, choosing to ignore the simple, harsh truths that were right before me."

Abbie nods. She feels hot and cold at once, and her heart is pounding, aching for this man, wanting his pain to end. Wanting nothing more than to pull him into her arms and make all his hurt go away.

"I didn't really know Katrina," he says. "Surprisingly, it was Arthur who reminded me of these facts," he says, chuckling once. "I hadn't forgotten all the things I learned after her death, obviously, but I had just... put them aside. Chose not to address them. I chose to cling to my hopes for what could have been with her instead of living my life."

Abbie sadly smiles and looks down at her hands.

"He also correctly pointed out that Katrina would want me to move on with my life," Crane adds. "He gave me the final good swift kick in the backside I needed after your gentle nudge."

Abbie smiles again, the image of Arthur trying to solve Ichabod's problems while Ichabod was probably trying to solve Arthur's problems very clear in her mind. _I wonder if he's landed in New York yet._

Crane continues. "So, I did some things. Some symbolic, some practical."

"Oh?" Abbie asks. _When did he find the time? I guess that's why he looks so exhausted._

"I still had several items of Katrina's. I'm sure this comes as no surprise to you," he says, looking slightly guilty. "A box of clothes. Some notes. Photos, including the one from my wallet. Her engagement ring."

"She wasn't buried with it?" Abbie asks.

"She was cremated," he answers. "Her parents returned the ring to me."

Abbie nods, not quite sure what to make of that detail. _I suppose, what else would they do with it?_

"I donated the clothes to a women's shelter at which my mother used to volunteer. The notes and the photos... I burned."

"You burned them?" she asks, a bit shocked.

"I set a fire in my fireplace, read each note one last time, and fed them to the fire. I already knew what each one said, obviously, and they were mostly short, informative missives – 'gone to the market', those types of things – but, there was no point in keeping them. I kept one photo, the one that was in my wallet. Only now, it is in an envelope inside a Bible on my bookshelf." He leans over and pulls his wallet from his pocket and offers it to Abbie to inspect.

She holds up her hand, declining. "I believe you, Ichabod. I don't need to check." They are not empty words. She _does_ believe him, but his willingness to give her the opportunity to see for herself deeply touches her heart.

"I sold the ring to a pawnbroker," he says, tossing his wallet unceremoniously onto the coffee table. "Received only a fraction of what I paid for it, but I could not keep it. In my mind, it was her ring; no one else's. I could never give it to anyone else." He looks her square in the eyes when he says this, and her breath catches momentarily, his intended message hitting her square in the heart.

_Anyone else. _He doesn't have to tell her who "Anyone" is.

Crane reaches a hand over to Abbie, palm up, his eyes questioning. She places hers in his and he smiles, closing his long fingers around her small hand.

"I took the money I received for the ring, plus a bit more, and donated it to a crisis center in London, where Katrina grew up. They have a suicide hotline and psychologists who donate their time to help people who want help, but cannot afford it. I didn't know what else to do," he says.

"That... that was a beautiful thing to do with the money, Ichabod," Abbie says, eyes misting.

"It did not seem right to keep it or spend it on some... thing," he explains.

"You had found just the right purpose for it," she says, squeezing his hand.

"I did one more thing about which I'd like to tell you," Crane continues, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Abbie's stomach does that flop thing again.

"What's that?"

"I went to, um, visit Katrina. Her ashes are in her family's crypt. I brought her a small bunch of flowers, and I told her... I said I was letting her go. I intended to tell her just that: Goodbye, I am moving on with my life, I've found someone I—" He pauses and clears his throat, stopping himself. "And I did all that, but then I found myself getting angry. With her. I... I told her that what she did was not fair. It was selfish of her to leave us the way she did, especially with no explanation. It was not fair to me, to her parents, her sister, her friends... and I told her I realized I'd never truly known her because she did not _allow_ me to see her – her _true_ self. She hid so many things and that is not how a good relationship works."

Abbie is clutching his hand, tears flowing unnoticed down her cheeks, listening closely to his every word.

Crane scoots a tiny bit closer to Abbie and continues. "I think that is one of the things I like best about you, Abbie. You are so open, so honest. I know when you are troubled, even if you don't tell me. You don't hide things because, well, I do not think you have the ability. At least, not with me," he says, smiling. He reaches up and gently wipes her wet cheeks with his thumbs, and her eyes close at his touch.

And that's when it hits Abbie. _You are the antithesis of Katrina. And that's a _good_ thing. He doesn't want another Katrina. He wants _you_._

"Ichabod, I..." she starts, but her words die before they can form.

"Abbie, when I said I missed you, it was true, but... inadequate. I don't have the words to convey how desolate I was without you in my life. Every day. I recognize we've only known each other for a couple of months, but... when we were apart, it was as if there was this great hole in my chest. A hole that was shaped like Abbie Mills." He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing it. Twice. "What I am clumsily trying to say is I love you, Abbie. I realized it the moment before you walked out of my flat. Your words that night helped open my eyes… helped me admit to myself that I hadn't moved on with my life. To borrow your words, I was treading water. You simply threw me the lifeline I needed."

Abbie is fully crying now. She feels like a wrecked pile of emotions and knows she must look a mess. Yet, Crane is gazing at her as if she is the rarest treasure on the planet. Overcome and tongue-tied, she opens her mouth to speak, but no words come.

"You don't need to say it back if you do not feel the same," he says. "But, I wanted you to know where my heart lies. It's here," he opens her hand, stroking the palm with his fingers, "in your hands." He presses her hand to his chest, over his heart. She leaves her hand there a moment after he drops his, then brings it up to his face, cupping his cheek, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb.

"I love you, too, Ichabod," she finally whispers. "I've been miserable without you."

He smiles sadly, wiping her tears again. "May I kiss you, Miss Abbie?" he asks softly.

"Please," she answers, and his lips are immediately on hers, his hand gently holding the back of her head, and the world suddenly rights itself. She leans up into him, clinging to his shoulders as he wraps his arm around her waist.

His kiss is soft and sweet, and Abbie melts into his arms, realizing _this_ is where she belongs.

Crane pulls gently away. "I missed you so much, Abbie," he says again, kissing her nose.

"I missed you, too. I thought about you every day; wondered how you were doing. If you were well," she answers, brushing an errant lock of hair from his forehead. His eyes close as her fingertips gently caress his skin.

"You did?" he asks, opening his eyes again.

Abbie nods. "I… I _tried_ not to, but—mm!"

He stops her words with his lips, taking her by surprise as he kisses her again, more ardently this time.

She immediately notices a difference. It's slight, but it's definitely there. He is bolder. Less... polite.

_He was holding back before._

Her fingers curl into his shirt as his tongue sweeps against her lips. She meets his tongue with hers and Crane groans low in his throat, their tongues sliding against one another, reacquainting themselves.

"Abbie," he hoarsely whispers, breaking away for just a second. He leans her back, covering her body with his. Abbie giggles against his lips, her hands sliding down his shoulders to his chest, then back up again under his arms to hold his back. She slides her hands, feeling the broad, flat muscles under her palms. He's slender, but he's all solid, toned muscle, and Abbie allows herself the freedom to explore, knowing he won't stop her now.

Especially because his hand is already beneath her shirt.

"Proving a point, Baby?" Abbie teases, pushing her breast into his palm. His fingers reflexively squeeze in response just before he lifts his head from her neck.

"What? Oh. _Oh._ I didn't even think…" he starts to move his hand, but Abbie is quicker, grabbing his wrist.

"Don't you dare," she says, laughing, and kisses him. "I was teasing," she says, lightly nipping his lower lip.

"Mmm, is that so," he rumbles, covering her lips with his and kissing her deeply, his hands now very busy learning the curves of her body.

They kiss and touch for some time, reveling in each other, taking time to enjoy their renewed togetherness.

Crane's lips are traversing the skin along the v-neck collar of Abbie's t-shirt and she has one hand on his back, under his shirt and one on his backside when her stomach growls.

_Oh, crap._

Crane starts chuckling against her skin, dropping his head onto her shoulder. He attempts to adjust her bra, now a little askew (only a little), as his laughter grows.

"Shut up," Abbie says, but she's laughing as well. She reaches up and gently nudges his hands away so she can put her bra back where it belongs.

"Are you hungry, my love?" Crane asks, smirking and sitting back.

"Yeah," she says. "You?"

"Quite," he answers. "What shall we have?"

"Well, I don't have much to eat here... let's order in," she suggests.

"That sounds perfect," he smiles. "I have no desire to go anywhere... if that suits you."

Abbie smiles, then bites her lip. "Ichabod, um... will you stay over? I mean, just to stay. Not..."

"Of course, I'll stay," he says, leaning over to kiss her softly.

xXx

"Mmm, this is nice," Abbie says, snuggling against Crane in her bed. She's in her standard sleepwear ensemble, t-shirt and shorts. Crane is wearing his boxer briefs. _"I generally sleep clad only in a pair of shorts,"_ he had explained with a simple shrug.

Abbie didn't mind, since it gave her a chance to check out his surprisingly muscular chest. _He's got really nice legs, too,_ she noted, pleased to discover they aren't spindly.

"Indeed," he agrees, wrapping his long arms around her. "My word, but you are such a tiny thing," he comments, wrapping his legs around her, too, just for effect. "Look, I can almost completely encapsulate you."

"No, you can't, you're too skinny," she argues, laughing. He rolls onto his back, pulling her with him so she is lying on top of him, and she yelps in surprise.

"I am not _skinny,_" he protests.

"Yes, you are. I'm not saying you're not fit, because you certainly are that. And you're not scrawny, but..." she reaches down and attempts to pinch his middle. "Nothing. You suck."

"I have always been slender," he says. "I told you but two of the names the other children had for me in school. Other favorites include 'Jack Skellington' and 'Stick Boy'."

"Oh, I love _Nightmare Before Christmas._ Jack was cool," Abbie says, smiling down at him. Then, she chuckles once. "You had the opposite problem I had," she adds, resting her chin atop her hands on his chest.

Crane squeezes her waist, his hands on her bare skin as her shirt has ridden up some. "I think we both turned out quite well, in spite of all that," he says. "Especially you."

"I think you may be partial, but thank you," she says, sliding down beside him again.

"I am quite partial, yes," he admits, lifting her chin with his index finger to kiss her. "Abbie," he starts, his voice serious again, "when you left me that night…"

"Shh, we don't have to talk about it anymore," she says, reaching up to caress his cheek.

He turns his head and kisses her palm. "No, I need to tell you. I want you to know. As difficult as this… exorcism, for lack of a better term, was… as much as it pained me to fully put Katrina to rest, it was nothing compared to the terror I felt at the thought of losing _you_. And I _could not_ allow that to happen. It hurt me far deeper. When I said you threw me a lifeline, I was being quite serious. I shudder to think of what my life would have become had you not helped open my eyes." He pauses, chuckling slightly now. "You threw me a lifeline, and Arthur picked me up, threw me in the deep end, and told me to swim."

"You're making me cry again," Abbie says, wiping her face, then his chest, which has gotten wet with her tears. Then, she lifts her head and kisses him.

"If you must cry on my account, I wish you only tears of joy," he whispers between soft kisses.

xXx

Abbie and Ichabod wake up in each other's arms, both happy for the first time in several days, both having slept better than either of them had in a long time.

While Abbie is showering, Crane finds a text message from Arthur, confirming his arrival in New York.

"What are you smiling at?" Abbie asks, walking into the room in a fluffy bathrobe.

"Arthur made it safely to Sleepy Hollow," he answers, showing her the text. As she leans over to look at it, he kisses her cheek.

"Tell him he'd better not show up empty-handed," Abbie says, smiling.

"I'm sure he won't," Crane says, but sends the text anyway. He looks at the clock. "It's only just past four a.m. there, I'm sure he's sleeping."

They spend their Saturday together, hanging around Abbie's apartment, just enjoying one another's company.

Abbie bravely asks him to tell her about Katrina. She's curious about the woman; wants to unravel the mystery around her. She learns Katrina was a ballerina, on her way to becoming the Prima Ballerina for the English National Ballet, but a knee injury ended her career. She decided to become a nurse after having three surgeries to repair her damaged knee. She was impressed by the intelligence and care demonstrated by her nurses, and thought she would be happy helping others.

"Alas, it did not bring her the fulfillment she sought," Crane had sighed. "She was almost finished with her studies, too."

Shortly after noon, Arthur replies to Crane's text.

_A: I wouldn't dream of arriving empty handed!_

_ A: Wait, are you with Abbie?_

_ I: Yes, I have been since last night. I have made my peace with Katrina, and Miss Abbie was good enough to take pity on my poor self._

_ A: Cheers, mate, that's fantastic. I hope I am as lucky with Guinevere._

_ I: We wish the same for you._

_ A: So it's "we" now? :)_

Abbie, reading over Crane's shoulder, kisses his cheek.

_ I: Yes._

By mid-afternoon, they start discussing dinner and the rest of their day, trying to decide what to do.

"I have a thought," Crane says, a small smile crossing his face. "I abhor wearing the same clothes more than one day in a row and would very much like to change."

"That's no problem. We can go over there," Abbie says. She likes his place. It's bigger than the small flat she shares with Gwen. Her phone chimes a text from her mom, likely an update on Jenny. She checks it and smiles when she reads that her baby sister is progressing as they hoped, but frowns when she realizes she has no idea what's going on with the Arthur Situation. _I'll shoot Gwen a text in a bit._

"Well, actually, I have a small errand to run. If you would pack a small bag and come to my flat later, we can have dinner there."

"What kind of errand?" Abbie asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"That, my love, is a surprise," he says leaning down to kiss her.

Abbie sighs, knowing he's up to something, but she won't press. He's got an impish light in his eyes she doesn't have the heart to extinguish. "Okay, how much later, then?"

"Hmm," he thinks a moment. "No earlier than five. Yes. That should give me sufficient time."

"Five?" Abbie asks. _That's two and a half hours from now. What is he doing?_ "Okay," she agrees. _It's not like I won't get to see him until tomorrow or anything. Get__ a gr__ip__. __ It'll give you time to get the scoop on Gwen._

He stands, and she follows, watching as he pulls his shoes on. Then, he cups her face in his hands, tilts her head up, and kisses her softly but thoroughly. "I will see you soon, Abbie. I love you. Very much."

"I love you, too, Ichabod. See you at five."

He smiles. "Until then, my treasure," he tenderly says, giving her one more kiss.

xXx

"Yes, well, I'll ask her, but I think the weekend after next would be preferable," Crane says into his phone, straightening the silverware and making sure the napkins are folded just so. "Because I don't want to overwhelm her, Mother. Next weekend is too soon to bring her up to meet you and Father."

A knock sounds at his door, and he walks to open it, cursing under his breath. "Hm? Nothing, nothing," he answers, when his mother asks what he said. He opens the door and smiles at Abbie, mouthing, "Sorry; my mother," to her. She smiles and nods as he takes her bag and heads to his bedroom. "Yes. Mum, Abbie just arrived, so I need to go. _Yes,_ Mum, I will. All right. I love you, too. 'Bye, Mum."

While Crane finishes his call, Abbie sets her boots by the door and shrugs out of her coat, smiling. _Conversations with moms are pretty universal._

"Sorry about that, Love. My mother has a gift for ringing up at inconvenient times," he says, setting his phone on a side table. He crosses to Abbie and pulls her into his arms for a kiss.

"Your mom knows about me," she says, looking up at him.

"Of course she does," he answers. "And she is thrilled I found someone so wonderful."

"You've been lying to your mom!" Abbie teases, laughing.

"Never," he grins. "Um... they would like to meet you. My parents," he says, the grin replaced with a nervous expression.

"Oh! Um... wow. When?" she asks, suddenly anxious.

"She asked about next weekend, but I think I have convinced her to wait another week. Perhaps we can bring Arthur and Miss Gwen along as well, so you won't be so overwhelmed. Provided they are able to reconcile, of course."

"That would be nice, _especially_ for them," Abbie sighs. She hugs Crane. After a moment, while pulling away from him, she discovers what he's been doing.

The flat smells wonderful. The table is set for two with a vase holding a dozen red roses placed precisely in the middle. She walks towards the table, Crane following. "Are these for me?" she quietly asks.

"Yes," he answers, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb lightly across her knuckles.

"Thank you," she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with her free hand.

Something goes _ding_ in the kitchen, and he releases her hand. "Oh, that'll be dinner."

"You cooked?" she asks, following him into the kitchen and peeking around him as he bends and retrieves something from the oven.

"Yes. I very much enjoy cooking," he says, placing a casserole dish on the stovetop. He opens the lid and pokes a knife in, checking something. "Good," he mutters.

"What is it?" Abbie asks, curious. It smells Italian.

He reaches for a bread-shaped item wrapped in foil, and places it inside the oven, then turns to the sink. "Chicken parmesan," he says, a crafty smile on his face.

_My favorite. _"Who have you been talking to?" she asks, biting back her own smile as she puts her hands on her hips.

"You were not the only person sending text messages to Miss Gwen this afternoon," he says. "I contacted her as soon as I was outside your door, in fact."

"Sneaky," she says, allowing the smile to come forth now.

"I hope it is up to your standards," he says, running hot water over linguini noodles in a colander to reheat them.

"I love that you cooked for me." Abbie comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist.

"It was the least I could do," he says.

"What do you mean?" she asks, moving around so she can see his face. "You've already won me back, you didn't need to, you know, _prove_ anything..."

"Abbie, you are not a prize to be won. All the things I've done over the days we were apart I did to make myself a better man. A man _deserving_ your love. This," he gestures to the food, table, and flowers, "is simply my way of telling you how much you mean to me and just how much I appreciate your patience."

xXx

"I've got dessert, if you'd like," Crane says, his lips skimming the side of Abbie's neck, the wetness of his tongue sliding along her skin. His beard prickles softly against her neck, providing an interesting contrast to the slick softness of his tongue.

"Hmm? I thought _you_ were dessert," Abbie answers, her voice soft and breathy. One of her hands is in his hair, elastic band holding his ponytail secure long discarded, the other is slyly untucking his shirt.

He chuckles, kissing his way back to her lips. "That can also be arranged," he murmurs, kissing her deeply and slightly pressing his hips into her.

Abbie gasps softly, her fingers stilling at his waist as she ponders where she thinks this is going. _Is this what I want?_

"Abbie," he speaks low in her ear, and her stomach flips, "I want to make love to you."

_Yes. This is definitely what I want._ She opens her mouth and words fail her. "Okay," she finally manages and he chuckles warmly in response, kissing her ear.

Crane kisses her lips one more time, then climbs off of her, standing beside the sofa, offering his hand. Abbie takes it and stands, only to be immediately scooped into his arms.

He carries her back to his bedroom and gently sets her on her feet, kissing her once more. Abbie takes a second to look around. Like the rest of his flat, it's immaculate, if a little sparse. Everything is in its proper place. There are no clothes lying about, no crumpled tissues on the nightstand, and the bed is so neatly made it looks like Crane has his own chambermaid.

_That's not going to last,_ she thinks ruefully, biting her lip to hold back her giggles.

"What is amusing you, my love?" Crane asks, taking her hands and placing them at his shirt buttons.

"Oh," she says, laughing a little as her fingers start opening buttons, "I was just thinking about how tidy your room is and how it's about to become _un_tidy..."

He smiles mischievously and reaches for her shirt. Abbie pauses what she's doing to allow him to pull it off over her head.

She yanks his shirt free of his jeans, finishes unbuttoning it, then pushes it from his shoulders.

Crane slides his arms out of his shirt and around her torso, reaching back to unhook her bra, kissing her neck and shoulder a few times while he's there. Abbie lets the straps fall down her arms.

"So beautiful," he whispers, reaching over to touch, his long fingers soft, thumb brushing her nipple.

Abbie smiles shyly, leaning forward, into his hand, encouraging him as she opens his jeans. Crane leans down, places a soft kiss on her breast, then removes his jeans and boxer briefs together. She makes quick work of the rest of her clothes as well. He quickly gathers up all the clothes and sets them neatly on a chair.

_Nice. Very nice._ Abbie surreptitiously admires him as she pulls the bedcovers back, realizing for the first time that the small bedside lamp is on and remembering what he said about Katrina. How she always wanted the lights out. How she hid her body from him.

As much as she wants to be at ease with her body, to stretch out on his bed like a contented feline, she is abruptly, glaringly aware of her own nakedness and stiffens, suddenly nervous. _No. Stop it. Don't hide. If he wants you, he's going to have to take you as you are._

"Abbie?" his soft voice breaks through the ineffective pep talk she is attempting to give herself. "What's wrong?"

She looks up, anxiously gnawing her lower lip. "Nothing. Well, maybe something."

He pulls her into his arms, his skin warm against hers. "You are beautiful, Abbie. Truly gorgeous, inside and out." His hands caress her back.

"Thank you," she says. "Um, so are you," she answers, a nervous giggle escaping.

He sits on the bed, pulling her with him, onto his lap. "Abbie, I want you to listen to me. I love you," he says, kissing her. "You are the most beautiful woman to me. In every way." He kisses her again. "I love how you look, yes," he caresses her cheek, then pointedly slides his hand down her neck to her breast, where he lingers a moment before moving it to her stomach, finally coming to rest on her hip, "but also what's inside." He gently bumps his forehead against hers, and she smiles. "Your intellect. Your personality. _Who_ you are." He kisses her again. "And, for the record, I find the fact you are a police officer to be _very_ sexy," he murmurs against her lips.

This surprises Abbie. "Really?" she breathes.

"Mmm, yes," he says. "A beautiful woman who can also very likely kick my arse?" he asks, looking into her eyes. "What's not sexy about that?" His lips curve into a crafty smile, and she laughs, tucking her head into his neck.

"Stop it, you're not serious," she says.

"Am I not?" he challenges, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Shit, you are," she says, and for some reason, this just makes her laugh more.

Crane catches her laughing lips with his, leaning her back onto the bed, kissing her the whole time. "Abbie, I... I would really like to leave the light on. With your consent, of course, but... I do so wish to see you," he says softly.

His sweet words break through what remains of Abbie's hesitation, and she kisses him passionately, holding his face between her hands. "You can leave it on," she says.

He smiles, caressing her face. "My sweet, wonderful Abbie," he whispers. Then, he kisses her neck, slowly working his way down to her breasts.

"Oh..." she breathes, her hands straying into his hair, delving her fingers into the silken strands.

Crane kisses her breasts, pulling a taut nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. Abbie moves one hand down, questing for him, wanting to feel him, thick and heavy in her hand. He grunts softly when her small fingers wrap around his shaft.

His hand has found its way to her stomach, his thumb tracing her bellybutton. He lifts his head and looks down at it, then hunches down and kisses it.

"Ichabod..." she giggles.

"It's quite charming," he says, kissing it again to make his point. He kisses his way back up as his hand continues its journey lower, skimming her hip to her thigh. He caresses the soft skin of her inner thigh and she moves her leg, opening up to him.

His lips attend her other breast, and his fingers move up, sliding between her folds to touch her. She gasps lightly at his touch and he groans at the warm wetness he finds.

Abbie's hand moves on his manhood, her strokes matching the movement of his fingers thrusting inside while his thumb teases her tight, swollen bud. He stops kissing her breast, reaches over to the nightstand, and brings out a condom. Then, he moves between her knees, looming large over her.

She feels surrounded by him. It's not a bad feeling by any stretch of the imagination, but Abbie puts her hand on Crane's shoulder. "Wait," she says and he immediately stills.

"What is it, my love?" he asks, his fingers poised to tear open the condom packet.

She reaches up with both hands and pushes him to the side, but she stays with him, settling herself on top of him.

"You're quite strong," he comments, smiling impishly.

"Cop," she says, taking the packet from him and opening it. She bends down and kisses him as she unrolls the condom over his length.

She takes him in her hand again, sliding him against her a few times, then with a soft moan, guides him inside.

His hands find her hips, holding them as she moves. "You take my breath away," he murmurs, his large hands roving up from her hips to span her waist, his thumb idly caressing a beauty mark on her ribcage.

The love and passion in his eyes as he gazes up at her penetrates her heart. If she had doubted any of his words tonight, the look in his eyes, on his face right now, would erase it all. She feels as beautiful as he says she is. She feels truly sexy. Desirable.

"Abbie," he whispers, calling her. She leans down and stretches over him, wrapping her legs around his, thus giving herself the leverage to keep moving .

She sucks his lower lip into her mouth, biting gently, then kisses him. His hands slide over her skin until she is tingling all over. They settle on her breasts, squeezing them gently, his palms sliding across her nipples.

"Mmm," she moans, rocking her hips, sliding up and down, his hips moving in time with hers. "Oh..."

Crane groans, pressing his lips to her neck, depositing wet kisses there, his hands on her back again, fingers digging in lightly.

Abbie feels the blissful floating sensation build as she approaches her peak and moves a little faster, a little harder, her breath coming in shallow rasps.

"Ab—"

"Oh!"

Crane chokes out half of her name a fraction of a second before Abbie cries out and they stop moving, just clinging to one another, riding out their orgasms together.

He wraps his arms around her, hugging her close as they softly and sweetly kiss.

"Wow," Abbie breathes, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Indeed," he agrees.

"I love you so much," she says, kissing his neck, rubbing his beard with her nose.

"I love you, too," he answers, squeezing her.

They bask in one another a few moments longer, letting the wave of relief, of _rightness_ wash over them, as the final pieces of the ghosts from their pasts lift from their shoulders and disappear.

She shifts slightly, gently disengaging from him and rolling to the side. He grabs a tissue and cleans himself up, disposing of the condom in a small trash bin beside the bed.

Abbie cuddles up beside him and he pulls the blankets up over them for warmth. "Um, just so you know, I'm on the pill, so if you don't want to use those, we really don't have to," she says.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and Abbie wonders what's up. _Oh, God, does he have some disease?_ "Actually, I prefer to use them, to be perfectly honest. I don't have any communicable diseases; it's just... tidier that way," he says. He sounds hesitant, like he's a little embarrassed to admit this.

"I suppose it is," she answers, trying not to sound like she's relieved. She looks up at him. "Hey," she says.

"Hmm?" he asks, peeking down at her.

"I know you like things orderly. I know you've probably got a touch of OCD. I want you to know I don't care," she says. "Don't be embarrassed because you eat your food alphabetically, one item at a time, or because it looked like you used a ruler while setting the dinner table, or because you had to get our clothes off the floor _before_ we made love."

"You're poking fun now," he says. She can see he's trying to hide his smile.

"Yes, I am. Because it doesn't matter. It's who you are and I love that."

"Thank you," he says, exhaling.

"So, don't hide your weirdness, Baby," she giggles. "'Cause I like it."

"I wasn't... _hiding_ it," he protests, poking her in the ribs, making her jump. "I was simply... trying not to call attention to it."

Abbie laughs. "Whatever you say."

Crane looks down at her, attempting to appear irritated. She just laughs more, so he stops her laughter with his kisses instead, deciding they are much more effective.

"Are you hungry? Dessert is still up for the offering," he asks.

"No, I'm not. I just want to lie here with you, if that's all right," she answers, her fingers toying with his chest hair.

"We can have the cheesecake tomorrow, then," he rumbles, holding her close.

Abbie lifts her head. "Cheesecake? Dessert is cheesecake?"

He chuckles, nodding.

"You made cheesecake?" she asks.

"Um, no. I purchased the cheesecake from a bakery. Just a small one. I would have liked to have baked one, but I knew there wouldn't be enough time for it to properly cool," he answers.

"I love cheesecake," she says, nuzzling his neck. "It's probably a good thing you bought a small one."

"It's dark chocolate," he says. Another tip he got from Gwen.

"Ooo, definitely a good thing you got a small one," she says. She lifts her head. "With a chocolate crust?"

Crane nods.

"Oh..."

"And a layer of ganache on top," he adds.

Abbie groans and drops her head back down to his chest.

"My plan was to seduce you by feeding it to you... slowly," he murmurs, his hands sliding on her skin. He kisses the top of her head. "But, it seems such a plan was unnecessary."

She looks up at him, scooting higher to kiss him. "You still can," she says, smirking at him. "We have all day tomorrow, you know."

"We do," he answers, kissing her back, pulling her over him, deepening the kiss.

"I _may_ have packed enough for two nights," she says, grinning against his lips.

He groans deliciously and slides his hands down her back, landing on her backside, which he squeezes. "This is also quite charming," he says, squeezing again.

Abbie laughs, dropping her head onto his shoulder. "On second thought, go ahead and hide your weirdness," she says, still laughing.

Crane chuckles devilishly, loving her teasing nature. He releases her backside and rolls them so she is beneath him, and she squeals.

He kisses her once, then looks down at her. "There is something I have always wanted to do," he says, his eyes alight with anticipation.

"Oh?" she asks, watching the top of his head as he kisses his way down her body.

"Um, I was never _allowed_..." he leaves the sentence hanging, and Abbie knows it's something he wanted to do with Katrina, but she wouldn't let him because of her issues.

"Oh," she says vaguely. Then, "Wait, this doesn't involve my butt, does it?"

Crane collapses on her stomach, laughing. "Oh, Abbie, you do make me laugh more than anyone. Even Arthur," he says. "And, no, your delectable derrière is not involved." He kisses her navel again.

"Okay. Carry on, then," she says, starting to guess his plan. When he scoots even lower, she knows her guess is correct. "Oh," she gasps when his tongue first touches her, sliding luxuriantly between her folds. "Oh, _definitely_ carry on..."


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur's alarm goes off at seven. He groans, opens his eyes, and experiences a brief moment of confusion, not being sure where he is. _Oh, yeah. The Hilton in Tarrytown._

He stretches, pads to the bathroom, pees, and returns to the bed, sitting heavily on it. Then, he reaches for his phone, unplugging it from its charger. There are two texts waiting for him, one from Crane and one from Guinevere. He checks Guinevere's first.

_G: Sorry I haven't replied to your message. I've been busy. And thinking. I would like to see you to talk when I get back._

He replies, choosing his words carefully.

A: _Oh, good. Let me know if you need a lift from the airport when you arrive. I miss you._

He reads it over, making sure he's not conveying anything misleading. He is willing to ruin his surprise to keep from lying to her if he has to, but thinks this text will do fine.

Then, he checks the one from Crane.

_I: Abbie advises you_ _arrive with a peace offering._

Arthur rolls his eyes. _Duh_. Then, he replies.

_A: I wouldn't dream of arriving empty handed!_

Realization hits him a moment later. _Abbie advises._ Crane must be with Abbie!

_ A: Wait, are you with Abbie?_

_ I: Yes, I have been since last night. I have made my peace with Katrina_ _and Miss Abbie was good enough to take pity on my poor self._

_ A: Cheers, mate, that's fantastic. I hope I am as lucky with Guinevere._

_ I: We wish the same for you._

_ A: So it's "we" now? :)_

_I: Yes._

"Good for you, Crane," Arthur says. He still feels somewhat tired because he forced himself to stay awake for the entire flight. He wanted to make sure he could sleep when he got here. Never mind that once his head hit the pillow, his brain kept him awake fretting over what to do when he sees Guinevere.

Abbie was good enough to give him the name and address of the hospital where Jenny is staying. He had asked for their home address as well, but she wisely pointed out that neutral territory may be best at first. "As neutral as a hospital room full of my family can be, anyway," she added ruefully. Arthur understood her meaning, though. If there was any… unpleasantness (and he truly hoped there would be none), it wouldn't be too loud or disruptive. _Public place. Hospital. Fairly safe. Ish._

He quickly showers, dresses, and calls for his car. He feels a little embarrassed about it, but it saves him trying to rely on GPS and a rental car. And adjusting to driving on the right side of the road. _Must remember to bring Geoffrey a little souvenir._

His driver, a middle-aged man named Bill, is friendly, but not terribly talkative. That suits Arthur just fine as he's pretty distracted right now and really isn't in any frame of mind to make small talk. Bill knows where _everything _is and pulls into a large convenience store when Arthur inquires about flowers.

"No flower shops open this early, sir," Bill explains. "This place usually has some, believe it or not. You won't get the largest selection, but I'm sure they'll have _something._"

"Thanks, mate. And you can call me Arthur," he says, climbing out of the car. "You need a coffee or anything?" he ducks his head back in and asks.

"I'm good, but… thanks for asking," Bill answers, caught off guard.

Arthur disappears into the store. He returns ten minutes later with an armload of flowers, a cardboard drink carrier full of coffees, and a plastic bag hanging from his arm. Bill jumps out to open Arthur's door, giving him a quizzical look.

"Long story," Arthur explains when they are moving again. "Short version is I messed up and flew over here from Oxford to try to get my girl back. Unfortunately, her sister is in hospital and since I can't show up empty-handed, I got flowers for her. And some for her sister. And a few other peace offerings for anyone else who may want to kick my arse."

"None of my business, sir. Arthur," Bill says, but then smiles, glancing at Arthur in the rear view mirror. "But, good luck to you."

"Thanks," Arthur says. "At the moment, I'm just trying not to lose my mind."

Bill pulls up to the hospital a short time later, dropping him off under a canopy by the main entrance.

Arthur heads inside, smiles at the older lady behind the information desk (silently thanking Abbie for also providing the room number), and heads back to the elevators. He rides up, looking longingly at his cup of cocoa, somewhat precariously perched in the center of the drink tray. He really wants a sip, but his hands are more than full.

The elevator door opens and he steps out, reads the signs on the wall, and proceeds in the direction of Jenny's room. His mind is whirring now.

_What do I do? Just knock on the door and say, "Hi, surprise, most of you don't want to see me, but I'm here anyway!"? And what if Guinevere isn't in the room, but everyone else is? Oh, God, that would be awkward. And what do I say? Do I—_

"Arthur?"

Lost in his own panicked thoughts, Arthur failed to see Guinevere emerge from a room two doors ahead. He freezes, eyes wide, like a deer caught in a set of headlights.

"Surprise?" he says. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Gwen stares a moment longer, also frozen in shock. Then, she quickly walks forward. "What... how...? What are you doing here?" she asks softly, stopping just out of reach.

_Bloody hell, she looks beautiful._ She's wearing jeans, a Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt, and chunky black suede boots. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

"I came here... for you. To apologize for being a complete..."

"Ass?" she provides, almost smiling.

"Yeah," he says. "Um, I got you these." He awkwardly tries to grab the bouquet for her and doesn't quite succeed.

"_All_ of them?" she asks, stepping closer.

"The roses," he clarifies.

She slowly reaches forward and takes the bunch of red and pink roses, finally allowing a small smile. He notices her hand is slightly trembling . "Thank you," she says, smelling them.

"They're not much... got them at the Seven-Eleven, to be honest... but..."

"Why do you have two more bouquets?" she asks, nodding at the other bunches in his arms.

"Well, this one," with his nose, he points to the one with yellow and white daisies, "is for Jenny, and that one," he indicates the other, with red carnations and white chrysanthemums, "is for your mom."

"And the coffees?" she asks.

"Those are for everyone. Except the one in the middle. That's mine," he says, smiling a little.

"Cocoa?" she asks.

"Yeah. I got flavored creamers and sugar in the bag, too. And some doughnuts."

"Trying to butter up the family now that I might be speaking to you again?"

"Um, actually, I just thought Jenny might like some flowers. They're cheerful."

Gwen nods, realizing she believes him. _He is a thoughtful guy. That hasn't changed._

"And okay, yes, the ones for your mum are purely to get into her good graces, I will admit that," he says sheepishly. "And I couldn't bring something for her and have nothing for your father, so, coffee. Or doughnuts. Does he like doughnuts?"

Gwen laughs in spite of herself. "Yes, he does."

They stand awkwardly in the hospital corridor for a few moments. Some people walk past, regarding them with mild curiosity.

"I'm so sorry, Guinevere," he starts, stepping closer to her.

"Arthur, I can't do this here. We need to talk, but... not now. Not here," she says, but doesn't move away from him.

"Right, of course," he says, his shoulders slumping a little.

"I... I think I forgive you, but we still need to talk," she clarifies.

"You do?" he asks, looking hopeful.

"I said, 'I think' I do," she says, but has to bite back a smile. _He came all the way across the Atlantic Ocean for me. I would be heartless not to be_ _touched by that._

"Will we be able to have this conversation today?" he asks.

"I think so. Jenny has another treatment this afternoon and will be too tired for company later," Gwen says. "Actually, she'll kick us all out before the treatment starts, so we can... maybe get something to eat and talk?"

"That sounds good," Arthur says.

"We should go back to the room," Gwen says. "I was actually supposed to be heading to the cafeteria to get coffee..."

"Hope these are still hot enough, then," Arthur says, nodding at the tray he is getting quite tired of holding.

"Can I take that?" she asks.

"No, I've got it. I think I'll go all off-balance if you take it from me now," he answers.

"Come on. Time to meet my family," she says, leading the way. "Your timing is as interesting as always, Arthur," she adds dryly. "Oh, if you want to get in good with my mom, you'd better give her the daisies. Those are her favorite," she adds.

"Okay," Arthur says, his brow furrowing a little, "but those are the cheerful ones…"

"Arthur, Jenny won't care. You could give her a bouquet of dandelions and she'd be happy you thought of her, all right?"

"Okay," he says. "Um, thank you," he adds. Her recommendation gives him hope, but still, he hesitates for just a second before following Gwen into the room.

"We were beginning to think you got lost," Gwen's mom says, looking up.

"No coffee?" her dad says.

"I've got coffee," Gwen answers, entering the room with Arthur in tow. "I, um, ran into someone in the hallway..."

"Holy shit, he came all the way over here?" Jenny asks, recognizing Arthur immediately. Mr. and Mrs. Mills look surprised and a little puzzled at his appearance. Gwen assumed Jenny had shown the photo she took of Arthur and Ichabod to her parents, but doesn't know for sure.

"Jennifer, language!" Mrs. Mills chides.

Jenny just sighs. "You've got a lot of nerve," she tells Arthur.

"Jenny, it's okay. Actually... Arthur came to apologize," Gwen says. "And he brought coffee, so..." she trails off a minute, then remembers her manners. "Um, Mom, Dad, Jenny, this is Arthur Pendragon. Arthur, this is my family."

"Um, hello," Arthur says, finally setting the drink tray down on the window ledge. He lifts his cocoa from the tray. "And forgive my intrusion. I usually have better manners than this. I'm not in the habit of just showing up in someone's hospital room, but..."

"It's all right," Mrs. Mills says, clearly impressed and touched by the romance of Arthur's grand gesture.

"Oh, these are for you, Mrs. Mills." Arthur passes the daisies to Gwen's mother, who takes them with a smile. "And for Jenny," he passes the carnations to Gwen's sister.

"Oh! Thank you." Mrs. Mills smiles.

Jenny isn't so forgiving. She grabs Arthur's wrist. Not tightly, but enough to get his attention. "I may be ill, but I _will_ kick your ass if you hurt my sister again," she mutters. Then, she releases his arm, coughs for several seconds, and says, "Thank you for the flowers, though. Red and white, too. Did you do that on purpose? And pass me one of those coffees."

"Huh?" Arthur asks, lost. As he reaches for a cup, he notices the Mills family is all decked out in Wisconsin gear. Jenny even has a red bandana with white Ws holding back her hair. "Oh. Um, if it will make you like me more, then, yes, I did," he says. "Cream? I've got Plain, Hazelnut , Irish Cream, and French Vanilla."

"Nothing, thanks," Jenny answers, laughing. "There's a game today. We don't always dress like this," she explains.

"Ah," Arthur says as he lifts two of the cups and offers them to Gwen's parents. Mrs. Mills declines, but Mr. Mills takes one, regarding Arthur with a level look . "Mr. Mills, it's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Arthur says. "Cream?"

"Hazelnut," he says. "Two of them. And a lot of sugar."

Arthur sets the unclaimed coffee down and digs the items out for Gwen's father. He can tell right away that Tom Mills is a man of few words, which is a bit unnerving because Arthur can't get a read on him. "I hope it's still hot enough," he says.

Mr. Mills nods noncommittally and sets his cup aside, placing the sugar packets and little cups of creamer beside it. He stands and faces Arthur. "Arthur," he says, looking him straight in the eye, "I have three daughters. They are the most precious people in the world to me and will always be my little girls. And since Gwen hasn't tossed you out on your ass, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and shake your hand. I trust her," he glances over Arthur's shoulder at his daughter for a second. Arthur grasps Mr. Mills' hand and shakes it. "And, since I trust _her_, I trust that _you_ won't screw things up." He tugs Arthur's hand, leaning in close. "But, if you hurt my Guinevere again, you will have to answer to me. Even if you are in England."

"Understood, sir," Arthur says. "And, for what it's worth, I am truly, _truly_ sorry for what happened. I know I messed up, and that's why I am here. To ask Guinevere to forgive me and see if she'll give me another chance." Mr. Mills is about the same height as Arthur, but he's a burly, powerfully-built man and Arthur knows his threat is in earnest. _I don't blame him one bit. With three daughters, he's probably been on high alert for years._

"Dad..." Gwen sighs, stepping over, Arthur's words making her heart ache, even though he said them to her father. Perhaps _because_ of that. "Your coffee is getting cold," she softly says , glancing at Arthur.

Mr. Mills releases Arthur's hand and sits again. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur notices Mrs. Mills smiling slightly.

"Your mum doesn't drink coffee?" Arthur asks quietly.

"No, sorry. But, she loves the flowers," Gwen says.

"Mrs. Mills, I've got hot cocoa here, if you'd rather," Arthur offers.

Mrs. Mills smiles. "Thank you, but I won't take your cocoa from you," she says.

Jenny rolls her eyes. "What else have you got in that bag?"

"Oh, doughnuts," he says, withdrawing the box.

"Here, Dad," Gwen passes it to her father before finishing preparing her coffee, dumping just as much cream and sugar into her cup as her father put into his, except she chose the French Vanilla flavor.

"Thank you," Mr. Mills says, then passes the box to his wife. "If you have a six-pack in there, all is forgiven," he says, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a very slight smile.

Arthur laughs, relieved. "Perhaps later," he says.

xXx

The day passes at a relatively slow pace. Nurses float in and out. Mrs. Mills asks Arthur polite questions. Jenny goes back and forth between seeming happy her family is there and wanting to be left alone. At lunchtime, she kicks them all out, telling them to go eat and leave her in peace for an hour.

"We'll be back by game time," Mr. Mills informs Jenny, kissing her forehead.

"Well, yeah," Jenny says, as though he is stating the obvious.

Over lunch, Mr. Mills attempts to give Arthur a high-level overview of American football after he learns Arthur has never really seen a game. Arthur listens attentively, tactfully _not_ mentioning that Guinevere had already started schooling him in the Mills family's favorite sport.

"Will we see Elyan play?" Arthur asks.

"Maybe," Gwen answers. "He usually only gets to play if the starter gets injured. Or if we're winning by a lot and it's the fourth quarter."

"Next year will be his time to shine," Mr. Mills proudly says.

"Did you play, sir?" Arthur asks. He sees Gwen exchange a sly smile with her mother, who nods very slightly, and knows he's asked the right question.

"Almost went pro," Mr. Mills answers, slightly puffing out his chest. "Outside linebacker – that's defense, not like El. Got drafted by the Bills, then wrecked my back during training camp. Luckily, I had my degree in Accounting to fall back on..." he says, chuckling.

"How did you injure yourself?" Arthur asks.

"Here we go..." Gwen mutters. Her mother hides her smile behind her drink.

"Well, it was in the second week of camp..."

xXx

"Okay, game's over, and the nurse is here. You guys can leave now," Jenny says, leaning her head back. "And, for God's sake, don't come so damn early tomorrow. It's Sunday. Go to church or something. You guys don't need to hover all the time."

Arthur presses his lips together to hold his laughter. He likes Jenny. She's feisty and funny, and her running commentary during the football game was better than the broadcasters'. He enjoyed the game a lot and found it surprisingly easy to follow. They even spotted Elyan a couple of times, which may have been the highlight of Mrs. Mills' day. And their team won, which is always a good thing. Gwen was texting back and forth with Abbie quite a bit during the game, giving her updates on Jenny, the game, and what Abbie referred to as "The Arthur Situation" (Gwen let Arthur peek at a few of the texts).

Jenny kisses her parents, who then hover in the doorway, waiting for Arthur and Gwen.

Gwen leans down to hug her sister, and Jenny holds her a moment, whispering, "Take him back, but make him work for it."

"Jenny!" Gwen whispers back.

"What? I'm just saying. Boyfriend is _seriously_ fine. And he seems pretty contrite, but that doesn't mean you have to let him off the hook without making him squirm a little."

"Shut up," Gwen laughs, hugging her again. _She knows that's not how I operate._

"It was nice meeting you, Jenny," Arthur says, his hand on her shoulder.

"Well, you're not exactly seeing me at my best, but there's nothing for it now," Jenny says. She coughs, then continues. "Maybe next time. Now go on, I know you're itching to beg my sister's forgiveness."

Arthur smiles, squeezes her shoulder lightly, and follows Gwen out.

"Where should we have dinner?" Mrs. Mills asks as they walk to the elevator.

"Little early for dinner," Mr. Mills comments.

"We can still plan for it, dear," she answers, nudging him with her elbow. "Guinevere, is there any place you'd like to go?"

"Um, actually, Mom, Arthur and I need to talk, so if you don't mind, we're going to go off on our own," Gwen says.

"Oh. Right, of course," Mrs. Mills says. "We've had such a lovely day I forgot that you two need to sort out some things."

"Do you need a lift?" Mr. Mills asks. Gwen looks at Arthur.

"Um, no, I... have a car service," he says. "In fact, I need to call him." He pulls his phone out and calls Bill.

"Car service, hey?" Mr. Mills says.

"Um, yeah, his family kind of has money," Gwen says softly. "He doesn't like to bring it up."

"Hmm," Mr. Mills answers noncommittally.

"You used your father's connections, didn't you?" Gwen gently asks Arthur as they exit the elevator.

"I might have done," Arthur admits.

They bid Gwen's parents goodnight and watch them walk to their car while they wait for Arthur's driver.

"I am paying for everything, though. I just used Father's resources, not his bank account."

"Arthur, I don't care," Gwen says. "You came. You dropped everything and came all the way over here to see me. The effort alone means so much."

Arthur smiles. "You are worth any effort, Guinevere," he says. Bill pulls up, and Arthur opens the door for Gwen. "Even if I had to swim here," he says as she enters the car.

"A bit of an overstatement, but I like the sentiment," she says. "Hello," she calls to Bill.

"Miss," he nods. "Where are we heading, sir?"

"Where _are_ we heading, Guinevere?" Arthur asks.

"Well, it _is_ early, but I'm a bit hungry. Do you want pizza? _Real_ pizza?" she asks.

"Yes," Arthur wholeheartedly agrees.

"Mr. Nick's, Miss?" Bill suggests.

"You've got a good driver," Gwen says to Arthur. "Yes, Mr. Nick's, please," she confirms, smiling.

Inside the restaurant, they sit, suddenly awkward. Arthur fidgets, unsure how to start.

"I've done a lot of thinking," he finally says after the waitress takes their order.

"Me, too," Gwen says.

He smiles a little, and takes a drink. "I'm sorry. I know I keep apologizing, but... it feels so inadequate. I _completely_ overreacted. I was a _total_ arse. You didn't deserve to be treated that way. Because you didn't do anything wrong."

Gwen listens, saying nothing. Arthur's fingers twitch on the tabletop, wanting to take her hands in his, but not sure if he should.

"Any explanation I can give is just going to sound like an excuse, but... well..."

"I know, Arthur. Mithian hurt you. I get that. What hurt was your refusal to listen to me. Your refusal to believe what I was saying."

"I wasn't able to," he says quietly, looking at his hands. "As soon as you left, it hit me like a wave. Your words finally sunk in. _You are not her._ I wanted to chase after you, to run out the door and bring you back, beg your forgiveness."

"Why didn't you?" Gwen asks, her voice a whisper.

"Would you have let me?"

"I don't know," she admits.

"Guinevere," he starts again, "do you remember when I told you about my father being rich?"

"Yes, of course," she answers, furrowing her brows.

"Do you remember when you asked me why I told you about my family's wealth?" Gwen nods, and he continues. "And, do you remember what I answered?"

"You said you could tell as soon as you met me that I am exactly what I seem. And I told you my opinion of you hadn't changed. That I already liked you before I knew you were rich. You said you believed me. Of course, I remember all that," she answers.

"I didn't," Arthur admits. "By the time I remembered, it was too late. _You_ wouldn't play me while sneaking around with some other bloke." He bravely reaches across the table, touching her hand with his fingertips. "You're not that kind of person. I don't think you have an unkind bone in your body, Guinevere."

Gwen presses her lips together, blinking back tears. She allows him to take her hand, and he squeezes it gratefully.

"What happened, Arthur?" she quietly asks, leaning back as their pizza is placed between them. Arthur reluctantly releases the soft hand he had just won.

He sighs heavily, reaching for a slice. "As I said earlier, I've been doing a lot of thinking."

"Yes," she says, taking a bite of her pizza. Arthur watches her, enjoying the way her eyes close blissfully as she sinks her teeth in, her plump lips slightly shiny with pizza grease. A slight smile curves these lips as she chews, savoring every morsel.

"You haven't had any pizza since you've been home?" Arthur asks, momentarily distracted.

"No," she admits. "Dad offered, but... it just made me think of you and I couldn't."

"Our first date," he says, smiling wistfully. Then, he takes a bite. "Bloody hell, this _is_ better," he says.

"Told you," she smiles, and for a moment, it seems like the world is right again. "So...?" she prompts.

"Oh. Right," he says and the wonderful moment is gone. "Yeah. It's a long flight over here, as you know. Gives a man time to think. And I realized something. I mean, I know I have a small problem with jealousy." Gwen raises an eyebrow at him. He smiles sheepishly and continues. "But, I know I can trust you. I mean, I knew, even then, I could trust you, despite my actions. What I couldn't figure out was why I couldn't let myself listen to you. Why I couldn't see reason, listen to _myself._ Then, I remembered how you kept stressing the point that du Lac is your boss, and because of that, you would never do anything with him."

"Right. I wouldn't. Even if I _was _attracted to him, _which I am not._ He's happily married, by the way," she says.

"Oh."

"His wife is expecting twins."

"Shit."

"Yeah. You were saying?"

Arthur sighs. "Well, just because _you_ would never doesn't mean _other_ people wouldn't."

"I'm not other people, Arthur," she says, taking a second piece of pizza. Arthur does the same.

"I know that. But... well, my father and stepmother..."

"Oh," Gwen says. "Right, she was his secretary. He was her boss and _they_ did."

Arthur nods. "It's dumb, I know. I realize their situation was nothing like yours. My mother had been dead for years. No one cheated on anyone. But, the knowledge that it _can_ happen and _does_ happen, combined with my own jealousy issues and, um, insecurity, turned me into a giant asshole that night."

"I think I understand," Gwen quietly says.

"I can't take my words back. I can't take back the hurt I caused you. But, I can learn from it. And I have." He reaches across for her hand again, his half-eaten pizza slice abandoned for the moment.

"What did you learn, Arthur?" she asks. His thumb caressing the back of her hand is making her stomach flutter.

"I learned that just because one person hurt me, it doesn't mean everyone is going to do so. I learned that the hurt I was feeling at what I thought I saw is nothing compared to the hurt I experienced when you walked out on me. The hurt I felt knowing I had caused _you_ pain." He pauses and swallows hard. "I learned that the sun doesn't shine as brightly without you beside me. I learned that my life is empty if you're not in it," he says, bringing her hand to his lips and tenderly kissing it.

"Everything all right here?" their young waitress says brightly, setting two new beverages down on the table for them. They jump in surprise, Arthur releasing Gwen's hand. She quickly wipes her eyes.

"Fine, thank you, fine," Arthur answers. "Thank you."

"Good. Um, let me know if you need anything else," she says, suddenly realizing she's interrupting something.

"We'll need a to-go box soon," Gwen says.

"Okay, I'll bring one over, um, later," she answers and disappears.

"I missed you so much, Guinevere," Arthur says.

"I missed you, too, Arthur," she finally gives in and tells him.

"You did?" he asks.

"Yes, I did," she says. "As I said, you weren't the only one who had been doing some thinking."

"Of course," he says. "Will you tell me?"

She nods. "I... went through so many emotions, Arthur. Anger, disappointment, hurt... mostly hurt. But, more than that, I missed you. I would see something amusing during the day and pull my phone out to text you, then..."

"I know," he says. "Once, I even took a photo of... I don't even remember what... and was all set to send it to you, then I remembered."

She smiles sadly. "I wanted you to reach out to me, to get in touch with me, but at the same time, I didn't. Because I didn't know what I'd say. If taking you back would be a mistake or not."

Arthur's eyes widen, dread stealing over him. "What did you decide?" he asks, his voice a whisper. Everything today points to a positive answer, but he needs to hear her say it.

She sighs. "I was hurt, but I knew you were also hurting. That your anger at me came from a place of pain . Like I said, I was mostly upset at your refusal to listen to me. But, I did miss you. Especially after that voicemail you left," she says, smiling slightly.

Arthur chuckles, cheeks coloring . "Yeah, about that..."

"Don't apologize. It was wonderfully heartfelt. I may have listened to it more than once," she admits.

"Oh, really?" he asks, picking up his slice of pizza again. "How many times?"

"Seriously?" she asks, and he nods. _He really wants to know. _"Three times," she sighs. "And then two more, later."

He smiles, losing himself in her honey-brown eyes for a moment. "Please forgive me, Guinevere. If you won't take me back, I'll understand... I mean, I won't be happy, but I'll understand... I would very much like your forgiveness, at the very least."

Gwen reaches for his hand. "I have already forgiven you, Arthur. And you haven't lost me."

"I haven't?" he asks. "You mean...?"

"Yes, Arthur. I'll take you back," she says.

Arthur slides out of his side of the booth and is beside Guinevere in a flash. "Thank you," he breathes, then pulls her into his embrace and kisses her.

"Arthur," she pulls gently away. "I'll take you back, but... don't let it happen again. Please. I... I can't go through this a second time. My heart can't take it."

"I promise," he says, nuzzling her nose with his. "Well, I can't promise I won't get jealous, but I can promise I will listen to you. Always," he adds.

"Thank you, Arthur," she whispers, and he kisses her again, longer, heedless of their surroundings. Neither of them notice the waitress walk up, do an about-face, and immediately walk away, stifling her giggles.

"Arthur," Gwen gasps when he releases her lips, "we're in the middle of a restaurant."

"I don't care," he answers, kissing her again.

"_Arthur,_" she giggles. "People are looking."

Arthur smiles and backs away, still sitting beside her. He pulls his plate and glass across and takes a drink, then a bite of his pizza. He sets the slice back down and turns to her again. "Guinevere, will you come back to my hotel with me?"

"Sure," she says. "It's early yet, and there aren't really any sights worth seeing, especially _now,_ since it's dark and cold and all, and if we go to my house, my mom will think she needs to play hostess, and..."

"Guinevere," he gently interrupts, chuckling.

"Sorry. Rambling," she says. _Why was I rambling? I only ramble when I'm nervous._ He takes her hands in his. She looks in his eyes and realizes why she was rambling.

"Will you come back to my hotel and _stay_ there with me tonight? I mean, we won't do anything you don't want to do, obviously. I'd be happy just to hold you in my arms all night, if that's what you want. But, if you want to do..."

Guinevere leans forward and places a soft kiss on Arthur's lips, thus silencing him. "Who's rambling now?" she asks, smiling. She takes a moment to really ponder his question. _Is this the step I am ready to take? He did say he wouldn't press. But… yes, I __ a_m _._ "My answer is still 'yes', Arthur. I'll go to your hotel with you."

Arthur smiles, then kisses her.

"So, you _will_ get to see my house after all," Gwen says, picking up her pizza again.

"Hmm?" Arthur asks, also returning to his food.

"I want to pack a bag, Arthur. I'm not doing the Walk of Shame tomorrow morning. I can see it now, 'Oh, hey, Dad! What? Why, _yes_, these _are_ the same clothes I was wearing yesterday, why do you ask?' That'd go over _real_ well," she chuckles.

Arthur's pizza is hovering three inches from his mouth, his hand frozen in mid-air. "Bugger. Your parents. I forgot about them."

"Arthur, it's fine," Gwen says, giving his hand a gentle push towards his mouth. "I'll send my mom a text. Don't worry."

"Okay," he says, still wary of Mr. Mills. _Guinevere said, "Don't worry." So, I won't worry._

xXx

"I think my parents must have gone to dinner by now. My mom usually doesn't feel much like cooking after spending the day at the hospital," Gwen says, climbing out of the car, Arthur right behind her. "Mind the dog, though."

"Dog? You have a dog?" Arthur asks.

"He's Elyan's and a bit of an idiot," she explains. Arthur hears barking as Gwen unlocks the door. A medium-large dog, looking somewhat like a lab, immediately greets them, jumping and barking excitedly, tail wagging. He's all black with one irregularly-shaped white splotch on his rump. "Loki! Get down," Gwen says, rubbing the dog's head. Loki sniffs Arthur, licking his fingers.

"Pizza-flavored," Arthur laughs. "Loki? Cool name," he says, petting the dog. "Yes, hello, how are you?" he asks Loki, crouching down to scratch his ears. "What kind of dog is he?" he asks, squirming his face away as Loki is trying to lick him.

"Um, he's a mutt. Mostly lab, with some terrier and border collie and God knows what else," she says. "Come on."

She gives him a quick tour, ending in her childhood bedroom, where her suitcase is currently open on Abbie's old bed, clothes scattered around it, but in a somewhat orderly fashion. Loki, who has been following them the entire time, jumps up on Gwen's bed and curls into a ball.

"So, this is my room. Mine and Abbie's," she says, grabbing an old backpack out of her closet.

"I bet that was fun. Sharing a room," he says, walking around, investigating everything, picking up old stuffed toys, looking at books, nosing in drawers.

"You would think that only because you never had to share a room," Gwen says archly, stuffing things into her bag.

"Did you and Abbie fight a lot?" he asks.

"Not a lot, but we definitely had our moments," she says. "We mostly got along."

Arthur smiles, looking at a bulletin board covered in old photos and notes. "By the time I had a sibling, I was 13. And she was a girl, so we wouldn't have shared a room. _And_ my dad's house is unnecessarily large, so we had bedrooms to spare," he says, noticing a photo of young Gwen and Abbie with three other girls. They all look to be about 16.

Gwen chuckles and steps over to him. He wraps his arms around her waist and she rests her hands on his chest. Then, she leans forward and lays her head on his chest, her arms snaking around to his back, holding him close. She sighs. "I missed this," she whispers.

"Me, too," he agrees, laying his cheek on top of her head. "My arms always feel empty when they're not holding you."

They stand, just holding each other, enjoying the way their bodies effortlessly meld, the way they seem to fit as one.

"I love you, Guinevere," Arthur says. It comes out so softly he fears she didn't hear him.

When Gwen lifts her head from his chest and looks up at him, her eyes soft and glassy, he knows she has. "I love you, too, Arthur," she answers.

He exhales, not realizing he'd been holding his breath, then smiles and kisses her once. "Is that why this whole mess hurt so much?" he asks, caressing her cheek.

"Yes, I think that's exactly why," she answers.

Arthur lowers his head, kissing her, his lips soft against hers, tongue massaging hers. Her fingers clutch at his shirt and his hands stroke her back, one landing on her hip, at the top of her backside. She grips his back and whimpers quietly, losing herself in the moment.

Then, Loki barks, and the spell is broken.

"It's okay, boy, he's not hurting me," Gwen says, chuckling. She reaches over and rubs his chin reassuringly.

"Didn't you say he was your brother's dog?" Arthur asks, releasing her so she can finish packing.

"Yeah, but _he_ thinks he's mine," Gwen sighs. "Elyan chose Loki; Loki chose me. Dogs are weird that way sometimes."

"What does he do when you're gone?" Arthur asks.

"Follows Mom around," she says, closing the backpack. "Speaking of which, we should get going before they get home. We don't want to have to deal with explaining to my father why we're going to your hotel instead of staying here."

"Right," he agrees.

"I did tell Mom not to wait up," she says, leading him out of the house.

"When did you tell her that?" Arthur asks.

"When we left the hospital," Gwen says.

"Wait, what?"

xXx

The hotel is somewhat luxurious, but Arthur's room is ordinary. Not a suite, no special amenities. Just a king-sized bed, a desk, a chair, a TV, and a bathroom.

Currently, Arthur and Guinevere are cuddled on the large bed, on top of the covers, talking. Occasionally kissing. Mostly talking. Arthur loses himself in Gwen's eyes while listening to her talk. She loves the sound of his laughter, how his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Gwen's received a few texts from Jenny, but they are largely uninterrupted.

"Arthur, you said something earlier," Gwen says, looking up at him.

"I said many things earlier," he comments.

She sighs and lightly swats his chest. "I'm being serious," she says. "You mentioned something about being insecure. You seem like a pretty confident guy, though. What are you hiding?" She frowns up at him, her face full of concern.

"Oh, that," he says. "You know. It's the whole people liking me for me issue."

"Oh, _that,_" Gwen echoes. "I thought that might be it. I like you for you. So does Abbie. And Ichabod. And, I assume Merlin does, too."

"I know that. My close chums – Merlin, Crane, Leon, Percival... you and Abbie, now – aren't the issue, really. It's when I meet someone new that I start to fret about it. To be honest, I kind of bring it on myself," he says, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her shoulder.

"Well, that's basically what insecurity is, Arthur," she says, kissing his chin. "Everyone is insecure about something."

"What are you insecure about?" he asks, curious. "I can't think of a single thing you would worry over regarding yourself. You are about as perfect as they come."

Gwen smiles shyly at his praise, but ducks her head under his chin. "It's so stupid," she says. "Such a cliché."

"What?" he presses.

"My looks," she sighs.

"What?" Arthur can't believe his ears. He lifts her chin with a finger to look down at her. "Guinevere, you are so beautiful."

"Thank you, but you are biased. It's just... with Abbie and Jenny, I'm kind of the forgotten middle sister. Compared to them, I'm..."

"Just as beautiful and important as they are," Arthur says.

Guinevere can't help but smile at his perseverance, but continues. "Jenny may not look fantastic now, but when she's healthy, she looks like an exotic princess. And Abbie is gorgeous. Like, seriously gorgeous. Even you thought so or you wouldn't have asked her out," Gwen says. "The best I can hope for is 'cute', with my stupid freckles and square jaw and kind of wide nose..."

"First, stop. You are every bit as beautiful as they are. You may not have noticed the looks you get around campus, but I definitely have," he says, and she snorts a small laugh. "And to me, you are _more_ beautiful than both of your sisters. Seriously, Guinevere, the moment I saw you, any attraction I had to Abbie vanished. I saw you, and... just... wow." He kisses her. "Then, I got to know you, and..." he kisses her again, longer, "it only intensified." Another kiss. "Second, I _love_ your freckles," he adds, kissing a path across her cheekbones to illustrate his point. "And third, why are you comparing yourself to your sisters? You're not Abbie or Jenny. You're you. And I love _you_," he says. "Freckles and all."

"Thank you, Arthur," she says, kissing him. "I did warn you it was stupid, but thank you."

"Don't get an inflated ego now," he teases, still kissing her, moving slightly over her.

Gwen giggles, but her laughter is short-lived, giving way to gasps as Arthur trails wet kisses down her neck, his hands roving, bunching her sweatshirt.

"This... thing... is too... bulky..." he mutters, slipping his hand beneath it and splaying his fingers on the soft skin of her stomach.

"Yeah," Gwen agrees. She pushes Arthur's shoulder and sits up, then pulls the sweatshirt off, throwing it aside.

"Oh..." Arthur groans, making quick work of his own shirt before returning to her, kissing her hungrily, passionately. Their hands rove, pulling at garments, yanking the bedcovers back, and in seconds they are both naked.

"Guinevere," he croaks, feathering kisses across her breasts, "you're on the pill, right?"

"Yeah," she breathes.

"'Cause I've got some... condoms in my suitcase..." he answers, pulling a taut nipple into his mouth.

"Oh... Making plans?" she asks, her fingers in his hair, nails raking lightly over his scalp.

"Not really," he grunts. "Mostly hoping..."

Gwen laughs, then gasps as Arthur's hand slides down between her legs, caressing her inner thigh. Teasing.

"Do you want me to... get one, or..." his fingers sliding higher. Building anticipation.

"I... assume you're... stop teasing me, Arthur!" she finally snaps, moving her hips against his hand.

Arthur chuckles, lifting his head. "I don't have any diseases, Love." He kisses her sweetly. "And I'm sure you don't, either," he adds, kissing her longer now, finally slipping his fingers where she wants them.

"Oh..." she moans, pulling her lips away from his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She feels the warm, hard length of his erection against her thigh and moves one hand down, wrapping her slender fingers around it.

He grunts against her neck and his fingers falter when she slides her hand along his length. "Mmm," she hums deliciously, pulling his earlobe into her mouth.

Arthur climbs fully over her, kissing her neck while she nibbles his ear. He starts moving lower, tracing her collarbone with his tongue, placing a sucking kiss at the hollow of her throat. He kisses his way down again, teasing a nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth and biting gently before moving to the other, his fingers still moving between her legs, thrusting inside a few times before moving back over to rub circles around her swollen nub.

"Oh... now, Arthur... please..." she gasps, tugging his hair to bring him back up.

He suckles her one final time, then kisses his way back up along her neck, settling himself between her thighs as he goes. Gwen bends her knees, drawing him to her. She moves him into place and he smoothly thrusts, groaning as he sheathes himself within her.

"Oh... Guinevere..." His breathy words are growled in time with his deep thrusts, overcome with the feel of her around him, beneath him. "Love..."

"Arthur," she moans, wrapping her legs around his hips, encouraging him. He responds by moving a little faster, a little harder, and is rewarded with an audible gasp.

She clutches his shoulders and he lowers his head, kissing her until neither of them can form a coherent thought, until she tears her lips away from his to cry out his name, shattering beneath him, her legs tightening around his hips.

Arthur's eyes open, and he watches Guinevere in her ecstasy, eyes closed, head thrown back, her beautiful lips parted and kiss-swollen.

It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and it tips him over the edge. He buries himself deep and stills his hips, tucking his head into her neck, holding her tight to him.

After a moment, his body slowly relaxes, and he tenderly kisses her neck once before emerging. "God, I love you," he whispers, dropping his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too," Gwen answers, smiling.

He carefully rolls off of her, pulling her against him, smoothing her hair away from her face. Her ponytail has gone askew, so she reaches back and pulls the elastic from her hair, deciding she'll deal with it later. She reaches for the blankets and pulls them up over them.

"Next time, we'll go slower," Arthur says after a moment, causing Gwen to giggle.

"That was fun, though," she says, hooking her leg over his, nestling her foot in between his calves.

"Oh, it definitely was," he agrees, idly twirling one of her curls around his finger, "but, _next_ time..."

"Yes, Love, next time," she says, patting his chest.

He tightens his arms around her, almost as though he is afraid she's going to disappear. They lie together quietly, watching the shadows on the ceiling. Gwen's phone buzzes once, but she doesn't reach for it.

"Probably my mom," she says absently.

"You should check," he says, and she stretches back to grab her phone.

"Yep. Mom," she confirms, sending a quick reply.

Arthur leans over and reads her text.

_We are good. Staying here. See you in the morning._

A moment later, she gets a reply.

_Just be safe. I'll deal with your father._

"By 'safe', she means..." he asks.

"Yeah," she confirms. "She's better at thinking of Abbie and me as adults than Dad is. Understandably." She sends a quick "thank you" text and sets her phone aside, snuggling in again.

"Tell me something no one knows about you," Gwen says.

Arthur thinks a minute, stroking her soft skin absentmindedly. "You know the movie _Aladdin_? The Disney cartoon one?" he says quietly.

"Yes…" Gwen answers, a slow smile already spreading across her face as she wonders what, specifically, he's going to tell her.

"I… kind of _like_ Princess Jasmine."

She lifts her head. "Like? You mean, like, _like_ like?" she asks, grinning.

He looks her straight in the eyes. "Yes. I fancy her. I know she's a cartoon, but… I think it's the outfits…" he trails off, blushing now.

Gwen giggles, and kisses him. "I just got an idea for Halloween," she says, and his eyes grow wide. She laughs some more and puts her head back down on his chest. " Actually, that's really cute . No one knows this? Not even Ichabod? Or Merlin?" she asks.

"Well, Merlin may suspect, but only because he's a little creepy sometimes. But, I've never actually _told_ anyone that before." He kisses the top of her head. "How about you?"

Gwen sighs. "I'm completely smitten with Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson from Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ novels," she says. "So, we both have unreasonable crushes on fictional characters, I guess."

Arthur tightens his arms around her, hugging her. "Those books are brilliant. Funny."

Gwen smiles, pleased he knows them. "Stupid, isn't it? Getting attached to fictional characters?"

"Oh, I don't know. There's a lot to be said for escapism," he muses, followed by a yawn.

"True. Right, now, though, reality is pretty good," she says, leaning up to kiss him.

"Indeed it is, my love," he agrees. "Indeed it is."


	12. Chapter 12

Both couples were engaged before the spring term ended. Arthur and Crane even organized their efforts and proposed the same evening. "We didn't want anyone thinking we were acting out of peer pressure," Arthur later explained. "Like, if Crane proposed first and then _I_ did..."

The next summer, after graduation, they were married, also on the same day, but that was largely for convenience . The ceremony was held in Sleepy Hollow, of course, and there was much overlap in the guest list. The couples wanted to avoid imposing a difficult choice on people, to either make two long flights from England or choose which wedding they would attend. Plus, Abbie and Crane planned to live in Cambridge, Massachusetts, while Arthur and Gwen were settling in London.

Crane took a position at Harvard teaching American History and quickly went from being a curiosity ("A British guy teaching American History?") to one of the most sought-after professors on campus. Abbie also works at Harvard, as head of Campus Security, in addition to being a consultant for several local police departments.

Arthur is the curator of the Medieval Europe exhibit at the British Museum in London, happy as can be amongst the suits of armor and ancient tapestries (though occasionally, he still goes on about dragons). Guinevere works from home. She discovered a talent for writing children's books, taking classic literature and spinning the stories to make them entertaining and accessible to children ages nine and under.

With the two Mills sisters separated by an ocean, they utilize Skype at least once a week to stay in touch.

"Corbin... hey, buddy... Corbin?"

"Arthur, he's just a baby," Guinevere laughs, watching their three month old nephew on the computer screen gurgling and stubbornly _not_ paying the least bit of attention to his Uncle Arthur. The sound of their two-year-old daughter waking from her nap catches Gwen's attention and she excuses herself to go tend to her.

In light of Jenny's ongoing battle with CF (which has no cure), Abbie and Gwen asked their husbands to be tested for the disease's genetic markers (Gwen and Abbie had already been tested). Thankfully, they both came up clear. Abbie and Crane had a bit more difficulty in becoming pregnant than Arthur and Gwen, with Corbin arriving just over two years after their daughter.

"If it makes you feel any better, mate, he ignores me half the time as well," Crane says, laughing. On cue, Corbin Ichabod Crane starts fussing in his father's arms.

Abbie refused to give their son the first name "Ichabod" and, to her surprise, Crane supported her unequivocally. They compromised with his parents by keeping it as Corbin's middle name.

"That's because you don't have the right equipment," Arthur says as a tired-looking Abbie takes her son and moves away from the webcam to nurse him.

"Funny," Abbie's sarcastic voice sounds from off-screen.

"It's amazing how quickly one forgets the early stages," Arthur muses. "He's getting big, though. Must take after you."

"I'm still right here, Arthur," Abbie says.

"He'll be taller than you by the time he's ten, Ab," Arthur teases.

"How is he sleeping?" Gwen asks, returning with a sleepy toddler in her arms, dangling a blanket.

"Wish he would sleep longer at night," Abbie answers, reappearing with a blanket draped over her shoulder and the baby, more for her own comfort than theirs.

"I see Orbin?" a small voice chirps when Gwen sits.

"He's eating right now, Gracie," Arthur answers, kissing his daughter. "Did you have a good nap?"

Grace Ygraine Pendragon nods her curly head, still leaning on her mother's shoulder. "Daddy," she says, lifting her head and reaching a hand out.

"Yep," Gwen sighs, smiling and handing Grace to Arthur. Grace is her daddy's girl through and through and has him wrapped around her little finger.

"Oh! Gwen, I saw your latest book yesterday at Barnes & Noble," Abbie says, suddenly remembering. "I may have steered a kid in its direction, too," she adds, smiling.

"Hey, thanks," Gwen says. "I'm thinking about doing _Great Expectations_ next."

"That's pretty ambitious," Abbie says, "and pretty cool." Corbin has finished eating and Abbie passes him to Crane so she can put herself back together. Crane dutifully pats Corbin's back, trying to coax forth a burp or two.

"I'm thinking mice. 'Pip' just seems like a good name for a mouse. And Miss Havisham can be some daft old rat or something," Gwen says. Abbie returns, laughing.

"Orbin!" Grace squeals, excited to see her baby cousin. "I see, Uncle Ich?"

"In a moment, darling," Crane answers. Corbin releases a rather loud burp and Crane raises an eyebrow at his son, checking the cloth slung over his shoulder for any spit up. "Well done, lad," he declares, turning him around so Grace can see him.

"Nice one, Sport," Arthur appraises, nodding. "He definitely has Abbie's eyes," he observes, "now that I can finally see them _open_."

"The ladies are going to be all over him, that's for sure," Gwen agrees. "Especially if he turns out as smart as the two of you as well."

"Hi, Orbin!" Grace waves her little hand. Crane obligingly lifts Corbin's hand and helps him wave back.

"You guys are coming here for Christmas this year, right?" Abbie asks. "Elyan and his girlfriend are going to be here and Jenny wants to see Grace again in the worst way."

"Well, I don't know..." Arthur says, scratching his head and twisting his mouth to the side.

"Daddy!" Grace exclaims, squirming around to look up at Arthur. "We go... you said we go..." she pleads, putting her small hands on his cheeks.

Arthur hugs his daughter, forgetting she doesn't understand those kinds of jokes yet. "Yes, sweetheart, we're going to Sleepy Hollow to see Grandma and Grandpa and everyone for Christmas. I was teasing Auntie and Uncle."

Crane laughs, and Corbin reaches up and digs his little fingers into his father's beard.

"What do you think of Corbin, Grace?" Guinevere asks her daughter. "Do you like him?"

"Yes," she says, nodding.

"Would you like a baby like him here with us?" Arthur asks, biting back his smile as he sees realization dawn on Abbie's face.

"Yes!" Grace exclaims, nodding enthusiastically. "But, a girl baby!"

Crane laughs again, even harder, and Corbin's fingers hook into his mouth. He kisses the chubby digits and gently removes them, stroking the soft skin as his son's fingers wrap around his thumb.

"Really?" Abbie asks, smiling.

"Yeah," Gwen answers. "Just over two months, though, so still a little early to fully let the cat out of the bag. But, I've been just _dying_ to tell you."

"Me, too," Arthur admits.

"You'll remember those early stages soon enough then," Crane says, recalling Arthur's earlier words.

"Do Mom and Dad know?" Abbie asks.

"Yeah," Gwen says. "We called them before we called you. I still need to tell Elyan."

"Did you see Jenny?" Abbie asks. "I need to call them..."

"Yeah. She looks good," Gwen says. "She was bummed that Grace was sleeping, though."

"Hungry, Daddy," Grace says, growing bored with the conversation. "I have biscuits?"

"You may have _one_," Gwen says. "If you want more, you can share a banana with Daddy."

"Aw..." Grace pouts.

"I guess I'm on Snack Duty," Arthur says. "Have a good day, guys. Miss you."

"You, too," Crane and Abbie say together.

"Say goodbye to Corbin, Gracie."

"'Bye, Orbin!"

"Have a good snack, Grace. Love you," Crane says.

"Love you, kiddo," Abbie echoes.

"Can you throw kisses?" Arthur whispers to his daughter.

Grace kisses her hand and throws kisses to the computer. Abbie catches hers and pockets it. "For later, when I miss you," she says.

Crane makes a big show of catching his and pressing it to his cheek. "Careful, my beard tickles," he warns, grinning impishly at Grace, who giggles and hides in Arthur's neck. He waves and disappears.

"I love her little accent," Abbie says, chuckling.

"I know," Gwen sighs, smiling. "Biscuits," she chuckles, remembering the conversation she and Abbie had long ago about biscuits and cookies.

Abbie laughs. The sound catches Corbin's attention and he leans towards his mother, wanting her back. Crane hands him over and he snuggles against his mother.

"I should actually get going, too," Gwen says. "Arthur has been known to allow _one_ cookie to become _tw__o_ or _three_ and you guys probably have things to do as well. Plus, I'm super tired and would like to catch a nap before dinner, so..."

"Are you not sleeping well?" Crane asks.

"Oh, I'm sleeping fine. I'm just pregnant," she answers.

"So, it's like last time, then," Abbie adds, remembering. "I still don't see how that's fair. You slept your first trimester away. I was sicker than a dog."

"Sorry," Gwen shrugs, smiling. "Can't control anything about it."

"Love you, Gwennie. Can't wait to see you in person," Abbie says.

"Love you, too, Ab. See you for reals in a couple months," Gwen answers. "Take good care of them, Ichabod."

"It is my greatest pleasure, Miss Gwen," Crane answers. He still calls her "Miss Gwen" occasionally and it always makes Guinevere smile.

They say their final goodbyes and disconnect the call.

Abbie stands, taking her son to the nursery for his nap. He's mostly asleep, making sucking motions with his mouth as he drifts.

She returns to Crane, curling up on his lap. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. "You should sleep, too, my love," he says, kissing her forehead.

"My eyes are closed now," she answers, settling in.

"As much as I would love to let you sleepon _me_, I fear it would be quite impractical and you would wake with a very stiff neck," Crane says. He stands, lifting her in his arms.

"I need to... do... something," Abbie protests as he carries her to the bedroom. "I just can't remember what..."

"It cannot be that important then," Crane answers, setting her on their bed. "Sleep, Love. You must take the opportunities when they present themselves. I shall finish the laundry."

"That's what it was," she says, sitting up again. "Laundry."

He coaxes her back down. "I will take care of it, Abbie. Sleep now."

"Okay," Abbie whispers, already drifting.

Across the pond, Guinevere quietly walks to the kitchen, stops just outside the doorway, and watches her husband and daughter. They are having a conversation about dragons. Arthur looks up and tenderly smiles at Guinevere. She blows him a kiss, which he catches and presses to his heart.

"Daddy," Grace says, tugging his hand and breaking the spell. "Uncle Murrin talks to dragons."

"What?" Arthur asks, returning his attention to his daughter as Gwen slips away to take her nap. A few minutes later, Gwen is just burrowing into the covers when she hears conspiratorial whispers outside the door. She bites back a smile and feigns sleep, fully aware that Arthur will know there's no way she would be sleeping yet. The door creaks open and she can hear them tiptoeing to the bed.

"Up, Daddy," Grace whispers.

Guinevere feels her daughter's banana-scented lips press her cheek, leaving a wet spot. "Seep good, Mummy," Grace whispers and Gwen wills her face to be still, though her lips twitch once.

Next, Arthur leans over, gently wipes the wet mark left by his daughter, and kisses Guinevere on the forehead. "I love you so much," he whispers, his lips brushing her ear before kissing the edge of it. Gwen smiles and she knows Arthur sees it.

"Come on, let's go find a book," he whispers to Grace as they exit the bedroom. "What would you like to read?"

"Emeneezer Hedgehog," Grace says, no longer whispering. Gwen snorts a small laugh as she hears the door close.

"Are you sure? That's a Christmas one and it's not even Halloween yet…" Arthur's voice drifts away as they head back to the living room.

Guinevere drifts off to sleep with a smile on her face, content.

-End-


End file.
